Afterwards
by Animorphgirl
Summary: In the weeks after being shot, Joe helps Stephanie recover emotionally, and she wonders if she's ready to be more than friends with her former FTA. Takes place directly after "One For the Money".  Fluff/Romance/Some Angst. Totally CUPCAKE.  COMPLETED.
1. Living Together

Disclaimer: I do not own Stephanie Plum or any of the characters in Janet Evanovich's series. They are the sole property of her and are being used without permission, but also without any financial gain. Please do not sue—I'm a poor librarian still living at home with my parents.

Summary: In the weeks after being shot, Joe helps Stephanie recover emotionally, and she wonders if they should take it further. Takes place directly after "One For the Money", but may not be compatible with later books in the series. A mix of hurt/comfort and fluff. Steph/Joe. Rated a mild T for minor language/mature themes.

"Steph? Don't you have any more dishes?"

I rolled over on my bed, then immediately regretted it as shots of pain emitted from my butt. I'd just gotten the stitches removed two days ago, but it was still pretty sore whenever I made sudden movements or tried to sit down for too long without the rubber donut.

Glancing at the digital clock, I realized that it was only 6:30AM. Too early to get up. Yeah, I'd been up that early when I worked full time at the lingerie store, but one nice aspect of being a bounty hunter was being able to choose my own hours. My injury also gave me an excuse to take it easy. There were other cases I could look through, but I wanted to wait until I was a little steadier on my feet before starting any major ones.

A day after Joe brought me the pizza from Pinos and we'd agreed to become friends (whatever that meant—I think he had in mind something closer to friends with benefits), he'd pretty much moved into my apartment. He'd said it was because I was injured and needed protection until I was totally myself again.

Also, I think my night terrors kind of freaked him out.

We'd been sitting on my couch—one of the only pieces of furniture I'd manage to avoid selling—on the day he'd brought over the pizza. The game was on, but I was pretty tired from the food, the beer, and the emotions the past several days had caused. I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I remembered, I was running away from Ramirez who had apparently placed me in handcuffs and was shooting at me. Naturally, since this kind of thing tends to happen in dreams, Alpha was running towards me with a gun and shooting wildly. I guess the Alpha in my dream didn't have a great shot, but he'd managed to hit me a few times in the chest before I woke up, screaming like a maniac and throwing a few punches in Joe's general direction.

He must have been pretty absorbed in the game, because he jumped out of the seat and practically ran towards my locked front door. While it only took him a few seconds to realize I'd been having a nightmare and I hadn't gone all out crazy, it took me a little longer to stop yelling and thrashing around like I'd actually been shot. To his credit, once Joe realized I wasn't trying to kill him, he returned to the couch and started trying to calm me down by pulling me back on the couch with an arm on my shoulder and telling me, in a voice I'd later come to realize as his "Stephanie's lost it so I've got to calm her down" voice, that everything was okay and I was safe.

Frankly, the details are still kind of fuzzy because all I remember vividly is my arms wrapped around my knees, still trying to figure out where the dream ended and the reality began.

_Breathe, Steph. It's okay, you're safe,_ I told myself, over and over.

The details became a little clearer then. I remember Joe keeping his arm around my back and my leaning against him.

"You okay?" he asked, now gentle, starting to rub my shoulders with the other hand.

I nodded, shutting my eyes as though that would block out the images from my dreams and from real life.

"Really?"

It was obvious that he wasn't convinced. Still, I nodded again, then shook my head as tears threatened to spill out. I began cursing myself mentally for letting Joe strip away my defenses, and even more for letting Ramirez get to me when he was locked up in jail.

He continued to rub my back for a few minutes. I could hear him taking breaths and then letting those out, like he wanted to say something but kept holding himself back at the last minute. Finally, Joe asked, "You get those a lot?"

"Define 'a lot'," was my bitter response.

I couldn't see him, but I would have sworn on Rex's life that Morelli was rolling his eyes.

His answer came pretty fast, as though he'd anticipated my response. Maybe he had. Joe'd been a cop—still _was_ a cop. He'd seen victims before, interrogated criminals. I guessed. I didn't know a whole lot about his daily life in the police force. Perhaps he just knew what kind of responses I'd give to his questions.

"More than twice a week."

Twice a _night_ was more like it. I wasn't sure if I'd had a solid, uninterrupted eight hours since before Alpha's attack. I was usually a pretty sound sleeper, but even with the door locked twice, I seemed to jump at any small movement.

My mom had been nagging at me to move back home, but I'd been resisting it. Healing would come, it just wouldn't come overnight.

I thought the conversation with Morelli was over, since he didn't say anything else but continued to massage my back. Which, I admit, was really relaxing and helped take my mind off of my continuing nightmares. But about ten minutes later, Joe announced, while still rubbing my back, that he was going to stay with me until I felt better.

His exact words were, "You need my protection. Luckily for you, I'm willing to give it since you're so sexy."

I'm not sure why that made me so angry, since I'd sort of been hoping that he'd make a similar offer. Not to move in with me, but maybe to call or stop by every so often to make sure I was okay. I mean, I was past 30—it's not like I needed my mom or someone to hold my hand every time things got tough at my job.

It wasn't just because it was Morelli making the offer. I'd probably have turned down the same help had it come from Ranger. I like to be independent.

Well, I yelled back something about not wanting or needing his protection, and added something about not wanting help from _perverts_ who broke into my apartment and chained my naked to my own shower.

Not my best moment, but what can I say? I was angry. I did not _need_ Joe's protection, and if he thought so little of me that he'd say it, I definitely didn't even _want_ it.

I stood up and stalked off to my bedroom, ignoring the huge spasms of pain from my butt, and slammed the door. Locked it, for good measure. A few minutes later, I was feeling more embarrassed than angry, but still fairly ticked off. I was certain that Joe had left, because I unlocked my door but didn't bother to open it and then lay on my bed, sulking and butt throbbing.

In true Joe Morelli fashion, he opened the door (which I heard rather than saw, because of the aforesaid sulking) and sat down next to me on the edge of my bed. He didn't say anything for awhile, but finally one of us broke the silence and we had a genuine heart to heart conversation. Involving him explaining that he wanted to be there for me while I got better, and me insisting that I didn't need his help, but if he'd shut up about it, then fine, I'd take it.

Then we went back to my living room to finish off the remaining three slices of pizza and beer.

We needed to set up some ground rules. Like my condition that if Morelli wanted to move into my apartment, however temporarily, he'd be sleeping on the couch. As though to counter that, he insisted that I sleep with my door unlocked. If someone tried to break in through it, he wanted to be able to get there immediately. We argued about that, but in the end, I agreed, on the condition that I could sleep with the door shut and he wouldn't go in unless I seemed like I was having a nightmare or was in actual physical danger.

To his credit, he was always on the couch when I woke up. Or, more often, up and about, getting ready for his long day of work being a cop.

Another condition was that I shower with the door locked. Joe wasn't too happy about this, kept pointing out the possibility of my slipping on the floor or drowning in the bathtub. I retorted that I had lived on my own for several years without managing to injure myself while showering, brushing my teeth, or doing my hair/makeup. That he'd already proven himself untrustworthy when he'd broken into my apartment and, oh yeah, _handcuffed me to the shower rod._

I practically yelled the last part. I have to say, it _did_ shut him up.

There were other conditions too, like my giving him a spare key which I'd take back at the end of his stay. He swore he wouldn't have any other copies made of it, something I hadn't even considered until he brought it up, which was enough to make me say no to that altogether. But then Joe pointed out that it would look weird if he locked himself out, raise questions among the other tenants and the supervisor. That if I misplaced _my_ keys, he'd be able to let me in. Stuff like that. So finally, more to shut him up than anything else, I agreed.

We ended up establishing a good system for "living together". I kept telling myself it wasn't really living together because 1) he was staying on the couch, 2) there were absolutely no romantic implications, and 3) we both understood that it would be temporary.

Two weeks later, even with my butt stitches out and my nightmares down to a few times a week, he was still there. If I had to be honest with myself, I'd say it was actually pretty nice having someone else around. I'd always considered myself as kind of a loner as far as not wanting to live with other people more than necessary. Part of the reason I hadn't moved back home after I'd been let go from my other job. But there were definite perks. My fridge always had food in it, and Joe always made us breakfast and dinner. Joe would wait until I ate before leaving for work, even if it meant hanging around my apartment for an extra hour before I was able to force myself awake long enough to feel hungry.

Recently, he'd been making me oatmeal with raisons. Before that, it had been scrambled eggs. Once or twice, Joe had made pancakes with the eggs. He was definitely talented as a cook, and I'd told him more than once that he should have been a chef instead of a cop.

"There are plenty of ways to get at the jerks through the restaurant business," I'd joked once. "Spit in the food, accidentally use too much hot sauce…the possibilities are endless. And you can't go to jail for injuring someone."

Joe had just laughed and said he'd stick with what he knew he was good at. So, as far as I knew, I was the only one benefiting from his culinary skills.

We had an unspoken agreement that since he was doing the cooking, I'd do the dishes. For the most part, I'd kept to my word. But I'd been feeling especially sore after the stitches came out, and had let them pile up over the last day or so.

Not the best thing when your supply of bowls, plates, and utensils was in the lower end of the single digits.

Either he hadn't noticed this, or I'd been keeping up enough that Joe hadn't felt like he had to say anything. Until now, when the dishes from the last few days were still in the sink and, apparently, we were out.

I grabbed hold of the bed with one hand as I managed to sit up. Grabbing the terrycloth bathrobe from the door on my closet, I made my way into the kitchen, pausing to throw it on over my PJs.

Joe was sitting at the table, coffee mug in hand, reading the paper. The bowl of oatmeal sat in the space across from him, waiting to be consumed by me. A glass of orange juice sat next to it, as well as a plate of sliced apples.

It looked great, and I sat down suddenly, not remembering in time that my butt would complain, and tried to hide a grimace as that, oh too familiar, wave of pain passed through my lower region.

Morelli looked up from his coffee and smiled. "Those were the last clean ones. I knew you were living kind of…"

"…on the edge of poverty?" I joked, taking a sip of the orange juice.

He chuckled. "I didn't realize that you'd started selling off your silverware."

I hid a snort. "Silverware? You make it sound like I have ten sets of silver set tea wear."

"Tea wear?"

I shrugged. "You know what I mean."

"I'll bring over some of mine after work, Steph. It's probably a crime against your sex to have less than eight matching glasses." He turned back to the paper, or looked like he was. Really, he was examining my face, looking for my reaction.

"We're not living together, Morelli," I sighed, taking a large bite of oatmeal. It was really good, probably due to the extra raisons he added. I'd have to remember that for when he left.

Left. I felt a slight pang thinking of that. I mentally shook my head, telling myself it was just hunger pangs. As though to prove it, I shoveled in another spoonful of oatmeal.

"I just thought it would be easier than making you spend money on more kitchenware."

I took a deep breath. Was he suggesting making this permanent? I knew we were becoming closer—after all, he didn't try to kill me in my sleep, and I hadn't tried to injure him while I was awake, and we'd been able to have a few sincere talks even when I wasn't having night terrors—but I figured it would be temporary. I'd initially planned on it only lasting a few weeks, a month or two tops, until my butt and mind healed.

It wasn't that I didn't like having him around. I did. More than I'd care to admit. But I wasn't ready for more than now. Actually, I'd probably only felt comfortable with the way things were now because I knew it would be temporary. We were friends, and he was helping me out. We hadn't even really kissed.

Well, no more than twice.

Okay, three times, if you counted the time after my nightmare from four nights ago. Which I didn't. That one had been especially bad, and I wasn't even sure I remembered when the cuddling imposed from him comforting me after my nightmares turned into kissing…

_Focus, Steph._

If I made too much of a deal out of it, Joe might leave right away. Or, possibly worse, take things the wrong way and figure that I did want a relationship, but was pretending I didn't. In order to trap him, or something.

On the other hand, letting him bring over his stuff could be taken as another way of saying, "Sure, let's move in together! And while we're at it, which side of the bed do you want?"

Unless Joe was just being considerate and his offer to bring over dishes really _was_ just that. Maybe he knew where we stood and it was me over thinking things.

It was too early in the morning to be doing this kind of analyzing. I took another spoonful of oatmeal.

A/N: Thanks for reading this far! I'm not sure how many chapters this will end up being, but I don't intend for it to get _too_ long. If you'd take a moment to write a review, that would be awesome.


	2. Reflecting

The silence continued, becoming too long to break without it feeling awkward. I just finished eating the oatmeal and brought my dishes over to the sink and began rinsing them off with hot water.. Joe finished eating a little after I did, probably because he was too engrossed in the paper to eat very quickly.

I wasn't entirely sure if there was tension in the room or if it was all in my head, so I just focused on cleaning out the bowls until he left for work. It would give me something to do, and then I wouldn't have it hanging over my head later.

"I'll be later than usual tonight," he announced, setting his dishes down. "Got to get the stuff from my apartment."

"You don't need to," I replied, toweling one of my glasses dry, trying to keep my voice light. "They'll be finished by the time you get back."

"I've got some other stuff I need to pick up while I'm there. It's really not a problem," was his response. "Got any laundry you want me to take?"

Morelli's apartment had a washer dryer, so I'd been going there on weekends instead of the Laundromat. I was amazed by how much money I'd been able to save just by not paying to wash and dry my clothes. Morelli didn't usually go there during the week, but I guessed he figured he shouldn't waste a trip.

"I've got some things." I left the remainder of the dirty dishes in the sink, where they'd sit peacefully enough until I returned. Grabbed a medium sized bag of laundry from my bedroom floor. I'd only just been there three days ago, but I'd also gone out running twice since then, which meant having to change my clothes and shower afterwards. I figured I could live without those clothes until the weekend, but my room could also do without smelling until then as well.

Morelli took the bag in one hand and gave me a one armed hug with the other. I think he'd also wanted to kiss me goodbye, but my face turned at the last minute and my hair got most of it.

It was too early to think clearly, especially when there was a guy involved.

I heard the door shut and the lock click behind him. Glanced at the digital clock on my oven. 6:55AM. Still pretty early, so I decided to finish up with the dishes and then head back to bed. Then, I'd take a long bath and make some phone calls for minor cases Vinny had sent over last week. He'd said that these were easy, mostly just time consuming, and could be done mostly at home until I was really back on my feet. I'd scanned them over, paying close attention to the money I'd get for each one. Nothing close to the ten thousand I'd gotten for getting Morelli, but the lowest one was almost two hundred dollars. Given my limited funds, I couldn't afford to be picky.

Nearly five thousand dollars sat in my bank account, untouched. The rest had gone to paying my rent for the next few months, but most of it went to paying bills. It had been kind of depressing to see how fast the money had disappeared on stuff I was just used to having (like phone service, food, and rent), but I knew from experience that I'd miss if I tried to do without them.

Morelli helped out with the food bills. He didn't give me money when I stopped by the grocery store, but I'd find stuff in the refrigerator I knew I hadn't purchased. When I first started asking about it, he'd said that since he'd be there for the time being, he figured he should supply his own food. But I knew that the split was uneven, with us sharing the food he designated as his. I'd feel guilty about that, but most of the meals were ones that he prepared for both of us for breakfast and dinner. Like the oatmeal and juice from today's breakfast.

On the other hand, I _had_ bought the coffee…

It was too much of a headache to think about. In the end, I knew that I was getting the better end of this whole "living together temporarily" arrangement. The couch he'd brought over looked pretty run down, and it didn't even fold out into a sofa bed. But he hadn't complained (much), and this whole thing had not only been his idea, but he'd been pretty stubborn about it.

I finished scrubbing the dishes—most of which had been left sitting too long, because there were chunks of food stuck on them that took forever to get off—returned the bathrobe to my closet, and locked the door before I climbing under the covers. Yeah, I probably should have left the door unlocked, but Joe would be gone for the day, and I really didn't want to risk it.

It was kind of sad, how paranoid I was getting. But I'd also heard the saying that NOT being paranoid didn't mean people weren't out to get you. In my line of work, there were always people out to get me.

Regardless of the potential murderers waiting outside of my apartment door, or standing outside on the fire escape, I managed to fall asleep within minutes, and rose a few hours later feeling extremely refreshed. Not to mention relieved that my sleep had been entirely dreamless.

On the first night Morelli had stayed over, which was the same night he'd brought over the beer and pizza, I'd had one of my usual night terrors. Even though I'd agreed to the arrangement just hours earlier, I'd pretty much lied through my teeth since then and insisted that I was really doing okay.

"Don't forget, I'll be right outside," Morelli had told me after I'd exchanged my clothes for a pair of PJs and brushed my teeth. His stuff was still at his apartment, but he'd said he'd get them the next day. "If you need anything, anything at all, just holler."

The weird part about the first night was that I wasn't even aware of having a bad dream until I'd woken up screaming at the top of my lungs. Later, Morelli'd told me he thought I'd actually been attacked. He raced in before I could shut myself up, eyes wide and swinging a lamp he'd grabbed from my living room.

"Who's there? Who's hurt you?" he yelled, waving the lamp around wildly. He'd flicked on the light switch as he came in, and as soon as he saw that it was just me, still lying on my back and screaming my lungs out, he'd put it down on the floor.

Good thing, too, because I didn't have any spare bulbs in case he broke that one. Or, for that matter, another lamp.

Morelli's face had been hard when he came in, but after giving the room a once over and the lamp was safely on the floor, his eyes seemed to soften. He stepped towards me—I, of course, backed away and began screaming again at the top of my lungs.

I know the walls of my apartment were thick, and the residents tended to sleep without their hearing aids, but I still consider it a near miracle no one else came banging on my door after they'd heard the ruckus.

Immediately, as though instinctively, he'd stopped near my bed and sort of knelt down. Took one of my hands in his, whispering reassuringly at though he'd been a parent and I was the child, and after I stopped crying, he just sat down on my bed and took me in his arms. I think that was when I really started to calm down. I was still making whimpering noises, but the feel of his arms around me, my head against the cloth of his t-shirt covering his chest, filled me with a deep sense of warmth and safety. Before long, I was quiet, and so was he, and all you could hear were the sounds of two people breathing.

I hadn't expected him to stay there for much longer, but when I'd woken up the following day, Joe was still there, arms wrapped around me, laced tightly through my stomach.

_Really_ tightly. I'd been able to breathe without a problem, but forget about moving around or getting up. I couldn't get back to sleep, so I just lay there, completely pinned down, until he woke up well over an hour later. Not that I was complaining. With the exception of a slightly sore butt, which I was beginning to accept as an inevitable part of my life, I don't think I'd felt so comfortable since the beginning of my marriage to Dickie.

Still, it had made for a kind of awkward way for us to first see each other that morning, and neither of us really talked about what had gone on during the previous night. During the days that followed, Morelli would still sometimes kept me company at night, but it was only in response to a nightmare or if he'd hear me thrashing around loudly for more than a few minutes at a time. He'd come to expect some movement because I flat out refused to sleep with my butt inside the plastic donut, and this made finding a comfortable place to sleep significantly more difficult than before.

Mostly, Morelli would be gone from my bed in the morning if he'd spent any part of the night there. We sure didn't the night out sleeping together (except once, when I'd fallen asleep on the couch, but I didn't think that counted). To be totally honest, I was not completely certain which I preferred. Joe didn't steal the blankets or kick at my legs under the bed—both were faults of my ex-husband—and there was no denying that it felt nice to have another human body to nestle against. The weather had been unseasonably cool, but it was too early for the landlord to turn on the heat for the apartment tenants. I wasn't cold, but when Morelli was there, I could count on feeling very toasty when I woke up.

I straightened up my bed and headed for the bathroom, deciding on a hot bath in favor of a shower. I hadn't been able to take those before my stitches came out, and while I was generally more of a shower person, the fact that I _couldn't _take a bath during those couple of weeks made me want one even more. Kind of like when I got braces and the dentist told me I was not to chew gum under any circumstances. Less than a week with them on, and I was craving watermelon bubblegum like it was the only thing in my life that mattered.

This was a little more serious because the doctor warned me of the serious infections if I didn't listen to every instruction he'd written on two double sided pages. After the stitches came out, the nurse said I could resume my normal life but I had to use extra caution for at least three to five days. It was well past day five, so I figured I could safely take a bath.

I waited until the water got really high before sinking into it. I shut my door, keeping my portable phone within an arm's reach, but safely out of the tub, in case I needed to call for someone for help. I didn't bother locking the door because…well, it just didn't seem necessary. I wasn't likely to be attacked. Sleeping was another issue, but I mostly locked the bathroom door as a (petty, I know) way of getting to Joe Morelli. I hadn't totally gotten over the fact that he'd handcuffed me to my shower rod less than a month ago. Not just handcuffed me, but left me there after he'd finished ransacking my apartment for the stupid distributor cap.

Okay, so he left me the phone. Big deal. If the phone company had forgotten to turn my service back on, I might still be hanging there. The image of a skeleton hanging from the shower sent a shiver of fear through my whole body.

_But they _did_ reconnect your phone, and you're _not_ dead, and you know that Morelli probably wishes he hadn't. At least now,_ I told myself, over and over.

I guess I just wanted to make him squirm. Let him know that there was still a part of my life that was, literally, locked to him.

Sometimes, anyway.

Morelli was the total opposite. Forget locking the door, he'd keep it wide open and sing when he used it. Loudly. He wasn't a bad singer, but any music that kept me from getting my usual eight hours (or more) put me in a sour mood.

I looked around the bathroom, pretending I was seeing it from an outsider's point of view. On the vanity counter sat two different brands of toothpaste. Two toothbrushes, each in their own cup. Two different colors of towels—mine were purple, and his were brown—hanging off the towel rack. In the bathtub, a pink razor (mine) but no shaving cream. His black razor sat on the vanity counter with a bottle of shaving cream sitting next to it. In the tub, there was a bottle of generic shampoo (mine) and a bottle of brand name shampoo and matching conditioner (his). At first, I couldn't believe that Morelli used conditioner on his hair. It seemed like something a guy would refuse to buy, considering it a waste of money. I didn't bother—I could barely afford shampoo. Its appearance was a constant temptation, and more than once I'd used some on my curly hair. I wasn't sure if it made a big difference after it dried, but it was easier to get a comb through after the showers. If Morelli noticed his supply running low, he hadn't said anything.

I lay in the tub until the water grew cool, then washed and conditioned my hair. I watched the evidence of my theft go down the drain, feeling a mix of satisfaction and (minor) guilt.


	3. Money and Morelli

I spent a few hours making phone calls before feeling certain enough about the location of three of my FTAs to go after them. I hadn't planned on driving that day, but my cash supply was pretty low, and I still had to make rent that month. I had two more weeks before the check was due, but if I could catch the three FTAs today, it would net me enough money to cover the rent for the coming month plus another a few hundred I could use for odds and ends. I did the math in my head and figured out I'd be able to make, tops, $1650.00 if I got all three FTAs. My rent was 700 dollars a month, but Ranger had told me in a recent phone conversation that I should set aside at least half of what I make for taxes. That figure seemed high, but I hadn't taken taxes into account when I'd collected my other paychecks, so keeping half of everything I made _from now on_ seemed right. This meant that after I paid off my landlord and Uncle Sam, I might have 150 dollars left.

Fifty dollars would go towards groceries. That left a hundred dollars for a rainy day. Or I could try to save up for a new couch and TV. Morelli would probably take his with him after he left in a week or so.

The thought of him leaving gave me an unpleasant pang, so I promptly turned my thoughts back to the FTAs.

The first one, Randall Smicklett, was wanted for stealing over a million dollars from his boss' company. He'd been working as a high power executive in some real estate company for a few years when his boss noticed that increments of money kept vanishing. The increments were usually several thousand dollars at a time. I guessed that if you were a multi millionaire, you tended not to notice a few thousand dollars missing until it happened more than a hundred times in the past three months.

It turned out that Smicklett had been dealing illegal drugs as a way to "supplement" his already high paycheck. Except, he'd been extending credit to too many people, so he'd had to steal from his company just to make the payments on the drugs.

Stupid.

His boss had been unbelievably lenient, opting to fire him and make him replace the stolen money. The cops weren't so understanding. Smicklett had been allowed to go free as long as he showed up for his court appearance—what lunatic decided that, I have no idea, but Ranger thought that Smicklett probably knew someone on the inside who had pulled some strings—which, of course, he hadn't done.

His bail was set at ten thousand, netting me a one thousand dollar paycheck if I could bring him in. Vinnie Plum thought the case would be too hard for me, initially giving it to Ranger, but it turned out that Smicklett was even _more_ stupid than he looked. He'd been seen at five bars in the past week, and even Jackie said that he'd been one of her clients on several occasions since the arrest.

I guessed that paying back his employer wasn't the first thing on Smicklett's mind. Nor, apparently, was staying out of jail.

Ranger told me that people who are sent to prison once usually return within a few years. I wondered if Smicklett was going to be one of those people I'd be sent to track down repeatedly. If I got a thousand dollars each time, or even five hundred, I was more than game. But he'd probably get smarter over time.

The second person was a middle aged female, Dorothy Willens, who had been convicted of stealing used car parts. No one knew what she did with those parts, since she wasn't in the auto industry. Vinnie said that the police reports stated that she sold them for cash, but wouldn't reveal who she was selling them too. He implied that Dorothy Willens was probably caught in some huge underground auto theft business. Much like Smicklett, Willens had a respectable job and seemed to make more than enough money to support herself. This was strictly a side job.

Her bail bond was set at twenty-five hundred dollars, my commission would be two hundred and fifty. Pretty good, but not worth spending several days on if I could help it. Willens mostly kept to herself, so if I was lucky, I'd find her at her home.

The final FTA was a middle aged man named Robert Smith who'd been convicted of insurance fraud. Apparently, he was known for buying used cars and then destroying them in order to collect the insurance money. The amount he insured the cars for was usually five times the value of the cars. About the sixth time this happened, the insurance company became suspicious and investigations began. His bail bond was set to four thousand, netting me four hundred dollars if I could locate him. This wouldn't be _too_ hard because he frequented many of the neighborhood bars in the middle of the day in hopes of picking up not so nice young women. Mostly, the managers left him alone as long as he bought _something_ and didn't make too much of a disturbance.

Smicklett and Willens turned out to be easy to catch. Partly because they were in the same bar. I focused my attention towards Smicklett first, explaining that I needed to drive him to the police station to reschedule his court date. I had my nerve gas on hand, but hidden in my fist behind my back. Smicklett really _was_ stupid, because he totally bought it and seemed apologetic for making me have to come and pick him up. Willens was a little more suspicious, and tried to leave the bar, but I trapped her at the side of the building and showed her my nerve gas.

"I won't hesitate to use it if I have to," I assured her.

We were about the same size, but she was at least twenty years older. Must have figured I'd be able to outrun her, because she just sighed and went without making a fuss.

I'd expected to be able to find Smith as easily as the others, but he was nowhere to be found. So, at around 4:30, I gave up and called it a day.

_Well,_ I told myself, _Twelve fifty is a lot better than nothing._

I'd get him tomorrow.

I was still pretty proud of myself, even if the earlier captures had been pretty easy. Money was money.

It was after five by the time I returned home. I'd deposited the check but had made out another one to my landlord, intending to stop by the next day, before I'd be tempted to spend it. I picked up a few items at Super Fresh, including some pellets and bedding for Rex, paying with my newly restored credit card. My creditors must have been shocked to see my check, but after I called the company, they informed me that my card was restored. They said that my rating was still going to be low for awhile, but that didn't bother me. I'd pay with cash when I could, sure, but credit cards were much easier. Now that I had a steady job, I didn't expect to have much trouble making the payments. I'd definitely make the minimum ones each once.

Morelli wasn't at my apartment, but I remembered that he'd wanted to pick up some stuff over at his place. That brought my attention back to his comment about me not having enough dishes and how he'd bring his over. It didn't bother me as much as it had earlier that day, but it would probably still be a source of tension between us. Just how long was he planning on staying? I was, mostly, doing all right.

I checked the machine for messages. My mom had called earlier, saying she was starting a batch of tuna casserole for the next day's dinner and wanted to know if I could make it then. No one else had called.

The kitchen was fairly clean, so I decided to straighten up the living room and bedroom before Morelli got back. Not that it would really matter to him how the apartment looked, but I'd been trying to keep it clean. One problem with not having much furniture is that when you have stuff scattered on the floor, it's really noticeable.

At 6:30, I decided to check on the other FTA files and make notes about what I'd done regarding each case. Just so I'd know if I had to track any of these people down in the future. I was immersed in my work when I heard the lock turn in the door. My heart started racing, but I ordered myself to calm down. It was probably just Morelli.

There was some knocking on the door. I frowned, wondering why he'd unlocked the door but hadn't opened it. Had I kept the chain on? I walked over to the entranceway of my apartment, but Morelli should have been able to get in. I checked the peephole. It was him—carrying a large bag from Dunkin Donuts and another one from Pino's Pizzaria. Yum.

"Can you open up, Steph?" he called.

Eyebrows raised, I opened the door and stepped aside. He headed in, and I saw that he was carrying another bag around his shoulder.

"Thanks. These things are heavy." He plopped the food bags on the kitchen table and dropped the other bag near the chair. "I've got some other stuff out in the car. Leave the door open, would you?"

"Uh—sure."

I knew he'd been planning to get stuff from his place, but how much was he bringing over?

He disappeared into the hallway, whistling a tune I didn't recognize, and appeared ten minutes later with a duffle bag half the size of him.

"Need some help?" I asked, moving aside again.

"Naw, I'm good," he grunted, just before throwing the bag on the ground. "That's everything."

I managed a laugh. "What's in there? Rocks?"

Morelli paused, trying to recall. "Books…clothes…bedding…and the dishes I promised. Used a lot of bubble wrap on them. Probably too much, but…" He shrugged and grinned sheepishly. "I didn't want them to break."

He was expecting a response, so I managed a lame, "I didn't know you could read."

"Ha. Ha." He turned towards the kitchen. "I thought we'd have pizza tonight, and donuts for dessert. Unless you started something?"

I shook my head. "I was going to make a salad, but I got distracted with the FTAs."

"Not a problem." He squeezed my shoulder. "C'mon, I'm starved."

As I inhaled the heavenly scent of cheese and pepperoni from Pinos, I remembered that I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. I'd meant to get something for lunch, but had been too distracted trying to catch Robert Smith that I'd completely forgotten. My stomach was now reminding me of this missed meal, loudly. It had gotten too used to the regular meals I'd started getting now that I was living with someone who could afford groceries.

We didn't say much as we ate the first few pieces. Morelli ate two slices at the rate I ate one, so by the time I was halfway through my second slice, the pizza pie looked more like a half circle. I savored my second piece and, while my stomach told me it could use another, my brain told me there were still donuts and I should leave room for dessert.

There were still four slices left by the time Morelli called it quits. I stood up. "Want to save these for tomorrow?"

He looked like I'd suggested we go without food for a month. "That's not gonna be enough. Maybe for you…"

I shook my head. Men and their enormous stomachs. Dickie had been the same way…but I wasn't going to think about that.

"You just wolfed down five slices! I only had two."

"So you want to have two for dinner tomorrow and I'll eat mine as a snack later tonight?" he tried.

"Sure." I wasn't about to ask if he could manage it. I knew he would. And he probably wouldn't even gain an ounce the next day.

We started in on the donuts. Morelli had purchased an assortment of twelve, so there were two of each flavor. I spotted a jelly one and grabbed it before he could snag it. He rolled his eyes and removed the remaining jelly donut from the other side of the box, taking a huge bite before I could say anything. Jelly spilled out of the donut upon impact. A small amount clung to both sides of his lips, giving the impression that he was either wearing lipstick, or had been kissing someone who had. The rest spilled out into the floor.

Ah, payback.

Morelli must have been thinking along the same lines, because he just licked his lips and grinned.

"Let's watch some TV," he suggested, walking towards the living room. I almost asked if he was going to clean up the mess, but decided against it, choosing to follow him instead.

We watched the news for awhile, me sort of leaning against Morelli without meaning to as I polished off my donut. I should add that there were no jelly explosions on my end. His arm rested around my shoulder after he'd finished eating, and I let out a small, contented sigh.

I had donuts, I had TV, I felt almost comfortable enough to fall asleep, and I wasn't being pursued by a psychotic fighter. Life didn't get much better than this.

His other hand reached out to play with my hair, something I noticed Joe doing a lot of when we were sitting close together and not talking. He'd claimed that my curly hair was a combination of "real curls" and "frizz curls", and liked to separate the real curls from the frizz curls. Once he located a real curl, he'd play with it, winding it around his fingers and (occasionally) pulling it to see if it would bounce. Once he'd finished separating the real curls from the frizz curls, Morelli would start twisting the frizz curls around my head without any real goal in mind. Sometimes, he'd try to straighten them out, but other times, he'd attempt to make them into real curls. He wasn't a hair stylist and would never be—my hair usually looked like it had taken between 100 and 500 volts of electricity, depending on the day, the weather, and how long I let him play with my hair—but it made Morelli happy. Besides, it felt nice to have someone play with my hair. I knew he'd never hear the end of it if I informed his cop buddies, but it would probably end the ritual as well if they found out. I didn't especially want that.

We watched some more TV after the news. There was a game show on which I recognized, so we stayed watching until the contestant walked away with a hundred thousand dollars.

Well, Morelli was watching. I was only half watching, half listening, since I was distracted by the aforesaid hair ritual and one armed cuddling.

After the show, I reluctantly got up to put the leftover pizza and donuts in the refrigerator. It wasn't exactly full, but there had been a lot more food there recently. We could probably make do with leftovers for a few meals.

Morelli _did_ end up cleaning up from the jelly disaster, and then went back into the living room to unpack the two bags. I decided to take another bath and closed—but forgot to lock—the bathroom door. Once I remembered the door was unlocked, I was too immersed in a hot bubble bath to care too much. I reasoned that if he accidentally came in, the soap bubbles would cover most of me. But he didn't.

I shampooed and conditioned my hair, even though I had done so earlier that day. I emerged from the tub in a towel with pink and slightly wrinkled skin, but feeling a nice mixture of refreshed and sleepy. Once out of the tub, I brushed and flossed my teeth before putting the cap back on the toothpaste. I must have been forgetting to do so lately, because it always seemed to be open when I used it. I ran a brush through my hair but decided not to dry it that night, then opted for an oversized blue t-shirt and brown gym shorts to wear to bed. I pulled the purple robe over my outfit and decided to see what Morelli was up to. Let him know the bathroom was free if he needed it.

He was still watching TV, leaning against the couch with a plate of leftover pizza and a donut on his lap. When he saw my shadow, he looked up and smiled.

"I'm just eating one slice. I put yours in the fridge."

"What about your other piece?" I asked, taking a seat on my one remaining chair, smoothing the robe over my legs. It occurred to me that I should have shaved them while in the tub. Didn't matter—the robe covered most of the hair.

He patted his stomach. "Getting digested as we speak. My pancreas is working overtime." In response to my blank stare, Morelli explained, "It breaks down the fats."

I didn't have much to say in response to this, so I changed the subject. "What are you watching?"

"Talk show. This doctor" he pointed to the screen "is trying to help that woman" he pointed to a woman who was so huge she'd make Lula look like she could model bikinis "understand that she's going to die of a massive heart attack if she can't get her weight under control. The woman on her left is the mom." The final figure was a stick thin woman who might have resembled the larger woman if she'd been a hundred pounds heavier. Or if the overweight woman had been a hundred pounds lighter. "You heading to bed?"

I checked the clock on the TV. 8:30. Too early…besides, I didn't feel tired enough to go to sleep.

"Not yet."

He finished off the last piece of pizza and then started on the donut. "Let me know when you do. I found something at my place I thought you could use." Then he paused. "Or you can sit here for awhile, if you feel like it."

The offer was tempting, but I'd watched all of the TV I could handle. Getting rid of my TV to have money for the bills hadn't exactly been easy, but I ended up hardly missing it. In all honesty, I probably wouldn't have watched it at all if Joe weren't here. Unless I was using it as background noise when it got too quiet.

"I think I might read for awhile," I replied. "I took a peek at one of your books the other day, and it looked interesting. Do you mind if I borrow it?"

Morelli lowered down the volume on the TV to zero. "The one with the house on the cover?"

"Let me check." I turned towards the kitchen and found it near the stove. "It's this one."

"Eddie lent that to me. He said his wife's book club was reading it last month. They got these advanced copies specifically for the book club. It's okay if you read it. I marked where I got up to."

Sure enough, he'd dog eared one of the pages less than halfway through the book. I hoped that Eddie's wife wouldn't notice.

I started to sit down and read it, but the light and noise from the TV was too distracting. I ended up taking the book to bed with me and was immersed in the second chapter when Joe Morelli came in to say goodnight, holding a brown blanket over one of his arms.

"Thought you could use this," he said by way of greeting. "It's gotten kind of chilly recently, and I see your heat's not on yet."

I turned the book upside down on the pillow. "Sure. Thanks."

I started to get up, but Morelli was already spreading the cover around my bed. I hadn't resumed my sleeping/thinking position yet, preferring to half sit, half lie down with my sheets and blankets wrapped around me. During the fall and winter, this was my preferred way to relax, and it even though it was only mid September, the temperature had dropped significantly over the past week. I wished the landlord would turn the heat on, but I knew I wouldn't freeze.

Still, the extra blanket would make a measurable difference. I appreciated the thought, only momentarily pausing to wonder if Joe meant me to keep it or if it was on loan for his duration at my place.

He sat down next to me, and I could tell by the dampness of his hair that he'd showered.

"You smell nice," I said before I could stop myself, even though it was true. It wasn't just his hair. His breath smelled like mints, and I wondered if he'd put on aftershave.

He ran his fingers through my still damp hair. "You do too," he said in a deep voice he used for flirting. "I could probably eat you up right now."

By that, he meant sex. Of course. I shook my head.

"No thanks."

A wave of fear went through me, remembering my encounters with Ramirez and how he'd gotten furious when I had said no to him. I told myself that Joe Morelli wasn't like that, but he saw the shadow pass over my face.

"Shh, it's okay," he murmured. "I'd never force you."

I made myself smile. "I know, Morelli. It was just a reflex."

It wasn't just Ramirez, I knew. Dickie had set me off against all men, and while it might not be fair or even logical, I still didn't want any kind of romantic relationship with anyone. Not ever.

He started to massage my shoulders, and I instinctively nestled my head against his chest. We sat like that for awhile when he broke the silence.

"Steph, have you been using my conditioner?"

It was a good thing he couldn't see my face, because it was starting to burn.

"Your…conditioner?" I asked, feigning sleepiness, stalling for time.

He turned me around. He wasn't smiling anymore, but his eyes didn't look angry. Or at least, not furious. "Your hair smells exactly like it. And it's been pretty soft for the past few days. _And_ I've noticed it getting lighter."

Now, Morelli sounded seriously ticked. "Have you?" he asked again.

I could only nod. "I'm sorry," I squeaked. "I'll pay you back for it."

The grin returned. "It's okay, Cupcake, don't bother. Keep using it. Just let me know when the bottle's almost empty, okay? Besides," and here his grin widened, "it's not like I can talk. I've been using your toothpaste."


	4. Misunderstandings

I sat up abruptly, moving myself away from Morelli's reach.

"You WHAT?" I snapped.

It was his turn to look sheepish. He stared at me with those chocolate eyes, and looked like a dog who'd just been caught peeing on the floor. It made it almost impossible to stay angry at him.

Almost.

"Just your _toothpaste_, Cupcake," Morelli replied, as though he thought I'd heard something different. "I haven't touched your toothbrush."

"I should hope not!" I fumed, more at the idea of Morelli using my toothbrush than his initial confession of him having used my toothpaste.

Using my toothpaste was more than a little gross. So _that's_ why the cap was never on it anymore. It probably wasn't contaminated, but it would dry out sooner, and that meant it wouldn't last as long. Toothpaste didn't grow on trees, after all. My mind mentally took a tally of all of the things Morelli had damaged since entering into my life again.

My screen (which was broken and I hadn't bothered to replace), my shower curtain (which would cost at least twenty dollars to replace), leftovers from my parents' house (okay, so these weren't damaged, but they were still gone, having been consumed by his stomach), even my sense of security at being alone in my apartment. He'd broken in before Alpha had. _Twice._

Didn't matter that the second time he'd cooked dinner and cleaned off Lula's blood. It was still an invasion of privacy.

Okay, so I'd used some of his conditioner. Big deal. That stuff went on your hair, not on your toothbrush. Totally different.

I stormed out of the bedroom, unsure where I'd go. I didn't really relish the idea of sleeping on Morelli's couch. Didn't want to spend the night at my parents'. Could I call Ranger and ask if I could spend the night at his place?

He might take it the wrong way. That would be awkward.

Then again, it would serve Morelli right.

I could always spend the night in my car, but that was even less appealing than sleeping on the couch.

Maybe Dorsey would let me crash for the night. But that would make things really awkward between him and was wife. I didn't want to do that.

Wait a minute, why was _I_ leaving? It was my apartment! I'd kick Morelli out.

I turned on my heels back towards the bedroom. Morelli was waiting on the bed, still looking sheepish. But the way his eyebrows were raised, I could tell that he found the whole situation amusing. Maybe he'd made up the part about the toothpaste to get me riled up.

"Steph." He patted the pillow next to him on the bed. "C'mon, sit down."

I glared at him for a few minutes, trying to stare him down. Tried not to blink, make him break the gaze first.

Yeah, I know. Real mature.

Finally, I took a seat on the bed next to him, leaving at least a foot of space between us. Yanked the covers off the bed forcefully before wrapping them around me. Turned away from Morelli and shut off the light. Lay on my side and pretended to fall sleep.

About five minutes later, I realized that I probably should have kicked him out of the bed before I'd acted like I was sleeping. Too late for that now. With any luck, he'd leave. If he didn't, I'd just move my legs so they got in his way. Maybe kick him a few times. The thought of kicking a sleeping Morelli, even making him tumble out of the bed, brought a smile to my face. I reveled in the image of his face hitting the floor. Maybe he'd break that nose of his. Listen to him swear indignantly and pretend to be asleep the whole time.

Since I was no longer tired, imagining my revenge seemed like a good way to keep my thoughts occupied. Then a laugh rose up in my throat, and I barely managed to hold it back.

Not well enough, though. Morelli must have heard it, known it wasn't a noise I generally made while sleeping.

Damn him.

He reached over me and turned the light on. Turned me over to face him. Gently. Not at all roughly.

Saw me looking at him before I could shut my eyes and feign sleep again.

"Got ya," he said, laughing. "You're not really sleeping. You're probably imagining all kinds of nasty stuff you want to do with me."

Like he could talk.

"_To_ you, not with you!" I hissed, feeling like a cat whose tail had been pulled repeatedly.

A mean cat. A wild one. Not one of those you keep as a pet.

"Stephanie."

I took a deep breath, willing myself to calm down. At the same time, telling myself I had a right to be angry.

"What are you _really_ angry about?"

I couldn't answer. I felt my throat close up, my eyes start to sting with unshed tears. I wouldn't cry.

When I didn't say anything for a few minutes, Morelli spoke again in that gentle, penetrating voice of his.

"I know the past few weeks have been hard for you, but I thought we had a good thing going." Pause. Waiting for me to confirm this. "This isn't just about toothpaste, is it?"

My throat remained closed, my voice not coming out. I could breathe, but I couldn't speak.

I just shook my head.

"It's not PMS, is it?" Morelli said it in a joking way, but the question was serious.

I shook my head again. I'd had my period two weeks ago. It wasn't that time of the month yet. And even though we'd slept together, we hadn't even made out, let alone had sex. So I knew I wasn't being emotional because I was at the early stages of pregnancy.

I also knew that I wasn't _just_ being emotional. Not irrationally emotional, at any rate.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

It was probably killing him to say that. Most guys hated to talk about their feelings. Morelli definitely fell into that grouping, at least with regards to this particular subject. I knew I should acknowledge this by giving him a straight answer. But by now, it was getting late, and I was actually getting pretty tired.

"Not tonight," I managed.

How do you tell someone that you don't completely trust them? That you're still angry about things they did in the very recent past? Sure, Morelli had been great lately, but this didn't right past wrongs.

Then again, I hadn't been completely innocent. I wasn't exactly a victim in all of this.

He moved closer to me. I didn't do the same, but I didn't pull away.

"Do you want me to leave?"

I didn't know if he meant the room, the apartment that night, or in general. I didn't want to ask. I just shook my head again and reached over to shut off the light.

Morelli put an arm around my shoulder, and I lay flat on my back, closing my eyes. Willed sleep to come.

I didn't recall having any nightmares that night, but when I woke up, I realized that I was nestled against Morelli's chest. The arm that had been around my shoulder was still there. His head was turned towards me. I got up and left the room, heading towards the bathroom. Locked the door before taking my usual morning shower.

Author's note:

I actually didn't intend for this chapter to be so depressing. In my imagination, Stephanie was a lot more amused than annoyed by the fact that Joe Morelli had been "borrowing" her toothpaste. But when I started to write, this is what came out. Blame Stephanie—she made me to include this angst. It's hard to fight against your characters when they want something! Anyway, the next chapter should be less angst ridden and will probably resolve some of the issues Stephanie's been having throughout this fic. That's not to say the next chapter will be the last one. I already wrote the ending (but might include an epilogue), and it won't be for at least a few more chapters.

A HUGE thank you to everyone who's been reading and reviewing. Please, please, please continue to do so. I appreciate all feedback, even negative, as long as it's constructive. You guys are awesome and I know I'm becoming a better writer because of this.


	5. Aftermath

I woke up the next morning feeling more than slightly embarrassed. Still a little angry (well, more like annoyed), but even that was directed more towards myself than at Morelli.

The truth was, he hadn't done much last night to warrant my explosion. In the past, sure, but he couldn't exactly read my mind and know what I'd been thinking when I stormed out.

I had two options. One, ignore everything. Brush it under the rug, so to speak. Explain it away to him as part of being a woman which he could either take or leave.

The other choice was to be brutally honest. List everything that he'd done that violated my trust. Because, I realized, that was the key thing.

I knew I was _safe_ with Morelli. Not in the "no one can ever hurt me as long as I'm with him" kind of safe, but the kind of security that came from having a partner. Knowing that if one of Alpha's friends wanted to break into my apartment and he happened to be there, my odds of not being hurt were significantly higher than if I'd been there by myself.

Knew that if I was in serious danger and called him for help, he'd be there.

It was the emotional security, the trust, that I was having issues with.

Because how could I trust someone who had basically violated all of my boundaries, physical and emotional, on numerous occasions?

Not only hadn't he called after we'd had sex (which I thought went pretty well and, despite what my mom and friends had warned me about, hadn't been all that painful), but had written about it on various public locations. Publicizing it. As far as I was aware of, Morelli hadn't done this to any of the other girls he'd slept with. Why had he felt the need to do that with me?

More than his not calling, that really got to me. That had been why I'd broken his leg with my father's car a few years later. He'd totally deserved it. Even my parents weren't _too_ upset when they found out later. My dad had said something like, "Good for you for standing up for yourself."

Personally, I think my mom and dad were pretty damn proud.

Next was the whole shower scene. Now, I understood that Morelli had been angry about my stealing his car. I got that he wanted the distributor cap back. I didn't even completely blame him for wanting me kept out of the way while he searched my apartment. I even understood that he'd been angry and hadn't been very considerate about going through my stuff.

And I didn't _really_ care about the shower curtain, because that thing had come with the apartment and was actually pretty ugly.

The two things that bothered me were that he'd charged into my bathroom when I was naked to handcuff me to the shower rod, and that he'd left me there after he'd finished going through my stuff.

It wasn't like he had a deadline to get some police papers into the station that night. Morelli could have waited until I was done in the bathroom and put on some pajamas. Or even a robe. He even could have waited until I'd fallen asleep, since I was a pretty sound sleeper and probably wouldn't have noticed him going through my things had he tried to be quiet about it. If he hadn't wanted to wait the extra ten minutes before I'd fallen asleep, he could have waited until I was at least half dressed.

Could have shown some restraint.

What really topped it off was him leaving me handcuffed. Okay, so he hadn't known my phone service had been cut off. So Morelli had probably thought I'd call someone (which I had) and been no worse for the wear, aside from an hour of stabbing pain in my arm and feeling completely humiliated. The fact remained that it hadn't been necessary. It had been cruel. Sadistic, even.

And while I'd confronted him about it, I don't think Joe Morelli really understood how awful that had been. Okay, rape would have been worse, but it wasn't like you could put a list of heinous actions on a scale and say, "Well, murder would have been the worst, so that's a ten, and rape would have been a ten, so something that's a five or a six is really more like a one or a two because it's not as bad as if he'd killed me or raped me."

I didn't care so much about the other things he'd did. Not at the moment. Throwing my car keys in the dumpster had been a two or a three on the list. More annoying than anything else. More justifiable, really, since Morelli had been on the run. It was the kind of thing you'd use as ammunition in an argument than something that could traumatize you for life.

Besides, his car had exploded, so in a sense, I'd gotten even with him for the whole dumpster incident.

The question was, could I let the shower incident go and let the good stuff he'd done since then make up for it? Or, would I confront Morelli about it and explain that he'd violated my trust and it wasn't something I could completely forgive anytime soon?

My thought process told me I'd choose the latter.

My actions during the previous night hadn't been completely unreasonable, but I'd let my emotions take over. Not as much as I could have, but I hadn't kept my cool. Morelli sure knew how to break down my defenses.

If I could have a few more hours to think about it, that would be best. It was Saturday, so Morelli probably didn't have official police duty, but he might have a meeting at some point during the day. Too bad. If it had been a weekday, I could just pretend to be sleeping until he left, and then deal with the logistics of talking to him (okay, making up) when he came back around 5:30 that night.

Being as it was a weekend, I'd have to deal with the situation sooner than I'd wanted.

Again, something that hadn't occurred to me last night. Maybe I should plan when I blew up better. Make sure I didn't let Morelli do anything to bother me on Fridays or Saturdays. Sundays were okay, or at least Sunday nights.

I glanced at my watch. It was only 6:00AM. Morelli would be asleep for at least thirty more minutes. If I wanted to avoid talking to him, I'd have to leave the apartment within the next twenty.

I decided to go for a run, quietly dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, grabbed my keys from the kitchen, and tiptoed out the door. I'd need to take another shower once I got back, but that was okay. I paid a flat rate on my apartment, so it actually make more sense, money wise, to take advantage of "free" stuff like electricity and hot water.

Being early October, the day would probably warm up, but right now, it hovered in the low to mid 40's. I wished I'd thought to bring a sweatshirt, but told myself that being cold would keep me motivated to run faster and longer. My usual route was three miles, but maybe I'd do six today. Maybe he'd be out of the house when I got back. Morelli would probably be ticked when he saw I'd left without leaving a note, but it was _my_ apartment and it wasn't like we were dating. I didn't have to answer to him.

A mile later, my chest was aching and I was revisiting the idea of doing five more miles. I wasn't sure I'd be able to do three. But if I ran back, I'd still end up doing two, and it probably wouldn't be late enough for Morelli to have left for work. If he'd been planning on working that day.

_I'll do five more, but I won't run the whole time. I'll walk at least part of it. That way, it will take longer,_ I told myself.

Maybe I'd stop at one of the bakeries and pick up some coffee or a muffin. Had I brought any money with me?

I checked my jean pockets and found a wrinkled five. I grinned and cheered, feeling as though I'd won the lottery. I could get coffee _and_ a muffin. Maybe I'd get a second muffin for later. I'd probably eat the first one on the way home. After all, didn't you need to refuel after exercising? It wouldn't do any good to let my body starve. Or let it think it was starving. You were supposed to treat your body with care, with respect. My body definitely respected good food.

I fantasized about the warm muffin and hot coffee as I finished my second and third mile. Then headed to the bakery from my apartment, which was probably a mile and a half away. I'd end up doing six miles if I jogged there and back. Well, at that point, I'd probably be walking, but my body would really need a break at that point.

By the time I got to the bakery, I thought I was going to collapse. I decided to sit down, just for a few minutes. Just to figure out what kind of muffin I should order to eat then, as opposed to which one I would save for later. Maybe there'd be a two for one sale or something. Or I could buy something half priced from yesterday.

Unfortunately, there were no half priced goods available. The person at the counter seemed a little offended that I asked. As though I should know better because of course, everything they made would be sold on that very day. Well, it wasn't like I visited there every day.

I figured out I had enough money to buy two small muffins and a medium coffee. Or, I could get a large coffee and two small muffins. I opted for the first choice. I hadn't taken sales tax into consideration, so I was short by five cents, but a small man behind me who looked like he was old enough to be my grandfather offered to pick up the extra five cents on his bill.

I drained the coffee first, followed by the first muffin (blueberry), and was almost at my door when I felt the coffee's presence in my bladder. Strongly. I didn't have time to wait for the elevator, so I rushed up the stairs like a madwoman, taking the steps two at a time. I mentally praised myself for just bringing my keys, as opposed to my entire pocketbook, and unlocked my door in record time.

Morelli was in the kitchen, cooking oatmeal and looking annoyed. I shot past him, having to pee too badly at this point to care. Once my bladder returned to its usual size, I calmly threw out the empty coffee cup and put the second, unopened, muffin on the table.

Morelli placed a glass of water on the table next to me as I sat down. "I was going to ask where you were, but based on the way you smell..."

I snorted before taking a long gulp from the water. I was still pretty thirsty from all of that running. I'd have to remember to bring my water bottle next time. If I knew where it was…

"Hey, I ran over six miles!" I protested. Okay, maybe just six. Unless you counted the distance between my apartment and where my route officially started, which, now that I thought about it, I did. "It's called sweating."

It was Morelli's turn to snort. At least, it sounded that way. I took another gulp of water, draining the glass entirely. Stared at it sadly. I was still thirsty, but my legs were starting to cramp up. I was probably going to get blisters on my feet.

And they said exercise was good for you.

"You're not much of a morning person," he commented, taking my glass to the sink and refilling it. Handed it to me.

Where'd that come from?

"What do you mean by that?" I demanded. "The latest you've ever seen my sleep was until 8AM. That's pretty damn early."

He gingerly moved a damp piece of my hair behind my ears. "Yeah," he explained, smiling slightly, "but you're a total grouch until you've had your cup of coffee."

Morelli had a point there.

Which meant it was time to change the subject. I took another gulp of water.

"Are you working today?"

"I'm off today," Morelli replied. "It's Saturday, remember, cupcake?"

I shrugged and tried to stand up, grabbing onto the table for support. "I don't have your schedule memorized. You could have had a meeting."

"Could have, but don't." Morelli turned back to the stove, taking the oatmeal off the stove. "You hungry?"

Starving. Whatever energy the muffin had given me was long gone. I sat back down without responding. Taking this as a yes, Morelli carefully poured the oatmeal into two bowls and loaded the bowls up with raisins. After retrieving spoons from one of the drawers, he set one down in front of me and one in front of him. I used eating as an excuse not to carry on a conversation, planning on showering as soon as I was finished and then taking a nice long nap. I would have loved to take a bath, but the thought of sitting in a tub with my sweat was completely unappealing.

I took the bowl up to the sink and Morelli followed me, sneaking an arm around my waist. I shrugged him off and turned on the water. Might as well do the dishes now. I began to attack them with soap and a sponge.

He didn't move away.

"Steph?"

"What."

He touched one of my shoulders. "You okay?"

I kept scrubbing at the bowl without turning around. _Out, damn spot._ "I'm fine, Morelli."

He sighed. "About last night…"

This time, I did look up. I made my gaze hard. "What about last night?"

"I'm sorry."

He sounded it. Looked it. I gave the bowls a final rinse and shut off the water with only a _little_ more force than necessary.

Morelli was waiting for a response, and I guess I kind of owed it to him.

"Okay."

"Did you want to talk about it?" he pressed, arm still on my shoulder.

I did, but I didn't. I was already starting to doubt my earlier resolve to have _that_ conversation with him. As a rule, I tried not to deal with negative emotions or events. Better to keep them bottled up until they spilled out. Then again, if I didn't deal with stuff, I figured they'd eventually go away and I'd only remember the stuff that was _really_ traumatic. And that was only if they were still on my mind in a few years. I thought it was a pretty good filter system.

I took a deep breath. _Give him a chance,_ I told myself. _He's trying_.

I just didn't want to deal with it then. Maybe after a hot shower and a long nap. But right now, I was still feeling the negative results of my brush with exercise, and just wanted to retreat into oblivion for a few hours.

"Okay," I replied. "But not now. I need to shower, and then I'm going to take a long nap."

He gave me a peck on the cheek. "Whenever you're ready." I was almost out the door when Morelli added, "I brought some games over. Figured it might be fun to try them out."

I rolled my eyes. "We're _not_ playing Choo Choo."

Morelli grinned. "Not Choo Choo."

"What kind of games did you bring over?"

"Just some board games. Monopoly. Clue. Scrabble. You up for that?"

Those did sound like fun. I hadn't played most of them since I was a kid. Maybe, after we got a few things straightened out.

"Yeah, okay. Maybe. Later, though."

He pulled me into a hug. "Sweet dreams, cupcake."

A/N: This chapter was getting sort of long, so I decided to stop there. It's still pretty angsty, but I wanted to make the ending more lighthearted. Resolution (and the talk) will definitely take place in the next chapter. Thank you (again!) for all of your reviews. Please leave one (even a short one) for this chapter.


	6. Serious Talk Stephanie

I remained in the shower for awhile, first using cold water and lots of soap to get rid of the sweat from the run. After I felt clean—and cold—I adjusted the temperature to warm for a few minutes before increasing it to hot. By the time I turned off the water, I'd adjusted the temperature to almost the maximum my shower allowed. My fair skin was very pink when I was finished.

I kept the door locked the entire time. I wasn't sure if I'd start crying as soon as I was away from Morelli, and I didn't want to take the chance that he'd hear and come barging in. If he heard, that was all the more reason to keep him out. I wouldn't have him see me naked again.

The tears started when the water was freezing cold and continued as the temperature increased, along with the intensity. What started out as a few tears down my cheeks—which could have been water from the shower—transformed into long, noisy sobs that made me feel like I couldn't get enough air in my lungs. I remained in the bathroom until I had myself under control, staring at my red face in the mirror and lecturing myself. When I was out of tears, I washed my face at the sink, unlocked the door, and headed for my bedroom.

Once there, I shut my bedroom door before exchanging the soft towel for a long flannel nightgown and then, for added protection, my bathrobe. Crept back into bed and pushed the brown blanket Morelli had given me aside. I didn't want to have anything to do with it. I pulled the other covers over my head and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The sun was bright and woke me up a few hours later. I'd forgotten to close my curtains, so I suspected it was the blinding light that awoke me more than a desire to get up. I felt groggy, and my legs still hurt from running. I also had to go to the bathroom.

If I stayed in bed, I probably wouldn't be able to fall asleep because of the damned sun, and I'd probably wet myself as soon as I fell asleep if the sun decided to take a hike. I was very warm and extremely comfortable, but I knew that I wouldn't stay comfortable if I soiled my sheets. Besides, then I'd have to wash my sheets, because my spare set was at Morelli's. I really didn't want to go to the Laundromat today.

The choice seemed obvious. I forced myself out of bed, closed the curtains, and headed towards the bathroom. On the way, I saw Morelli eating a sandwich and watching TV. He gave me a nod as he saw me walk by.

Once I was finished with my business and on my way back to my room, he spoke up.

"You going to get up soon?"

I glared at him. "No. I think I permanently damaged my knees from that running."

"Want some company?" Before I could say no, he was on his feet and walking towards my bedroom. He even went inside ahead of me.

"Out!" I snapped, passing him and taking a seat on the bed. "I'm going back to sleep and I don't want to be looking at _you_ when I fall asleep. Hell, Morelli, you can give a person nightmares."

Okay, so maybe it wasn't the nicest thing to say. Too bad. I still wasn't fully awake and I wanted him out of my room. I didn't care if Morelli was only there to be friendly. He had to go, and he had to go _now_. Before I kicked him out of my apartment for good.

Maybe I'd just move back home. I wouldn't have to worry about making the rent payments.

Then again, living with my parents and grandmother had other costs associated with them. Costs that, in my opinion, were too high to be quantified in terms of currency.

I didn't really look at myself in the mirror after I'd gone to the bathroom, but I figured I must look pretty bad. I knew that my hair was a mess from sleeping on it. My face was probably still pink from the shower. I was glaring at Morelli, and glaring at someone usually doesn't enhance that person's features. That's not to say I had turned into an inhuman monster, but I hoped I looked sufficiently bad enough to scare off my temporary roommate.

He held up his hands in surrender and left the bedroom, muttering under his breath.

Probably wondering what he'd done to deserve this. Probably thought I had major PMS. I snorted. He _wished_.

After another hour of sleep, I felt ready to face the world. I wasn't as alert as I'd be if I'd drained a few cups of coffee, but I felt rested and ready to face Morelli. If we talked now, I probably wouldn't rip his head off any more than was strictly necessary.

I stripped off the nightgown and robe, hanging the robe in my closet and returning the nightgown to my stack in my dresser. I got dressed in jeans and a brown long sleeved t-shirt. I added brown socks to the outfit, but decided against shoes, since I figured that I would stay in for the rest of the day. Besides, my feet were now starting to hurt and shoes would only make them worse. I brushed my hair out and debated pulling it back into a ponytail. I decided to leave it loose. I brushed my teeth and washed my face again. I noticed that Morelli had been leaving the toothpaste cap back on, if he'd used my toothpaste since my meltdown the previous night.

Morelli was spread out on his stomach on my couch, going over some papers which I could only assume were work related. My initial plan had been to sit down on the sofa and try to strike up small talk before delving into the serious talk. His appearance on my sofa clearly prevented this sort of thing from taking place.

My stomach growled. I glanced at my watch—it was past 1. I obviously needed to make myself some lunch before spilling my guts to Morelli.

Rex could probably use some food as well. I was pretty sure I fed him last night, but he might have resorted to eating the hamster pellets if he'd finished what he clearly considered to be the good stuff.

I made myself a peanut butter sandwich on whole wheat bread and poured myself a glass of skim milk. Might as well try to eat a little healthy. I broke off a corner of the sandwich and fed it to Rex. After eating the sandwich, I was still hungry, so I grabbed a bunch of grapes from the refrigerator and began snacking on those. Since Rex had finished with the sandwich, but still had plenty of pellets left, I broke off a few and dropped them in his cage. He looked overjoyed and I felt myself smiling. At least one of us was happy.

Morelli was still on the couch and reviewing the files when I returned to the living room, but I noticed that he was now in a sitting position. I took a seat next to him, closer to the edge of the couch than I'd normally sit. The couch wasn't one of those loveseats that forced two people to cuddle, but it also wasn't unnecessarily large. Not that I'd paid much attention to this when I'd bought it. It was one of those clearance sales, so it had been super cheap, and relatively comfortable. Morelli had been bugging me to use some of the ten thousand dollars to purchase furniture, and I'd relented.

I'd also bought a small coffee table at the same sale, which had been pretty useful when I wanted to grab a snack and watch TV. At the moment, Morelli's papers occupied most of the table, but at least they weren't spread out on the couch.

On the other hand, if they had been spread out on the couch, I could have delayed the talk until he was finished. Which might take all day. Thus buying me another day. Or several. Because Morelli might have to work on Sunday, and I could avoid him easily enough on weekdays if I tried hard enough. And it wasn't like he'd be living with me for much longer. I'd gone five days without any work related nightmares.

I continued munching on the grapes until I was finished, and then returned my bowl to the sink. No point in leaving them lying around. I considered washing the bowl, but decided against it. I returned to the sofa, walking more slowly than I would normally, but I told myself that this was because of my exercise induced trauma to my legs and feet.

Morelli had put down the rest of the papers and was waiting for me patiently, eyebrows raised slightly, a genuine smile on his face.

"Hey," he greeted, watching me sit down. "How are you doing?"

I shrugged. "I'm awake now."

In other words, the nasty monster that resembled Stephanie from earlier had now transformed into a fairly normal human being that did not resemble the earlier creature in any visible way.

Morelli laughed. "Always a good thing."

There was a long pause as I repositioned myself on the couch. More to have something to do than anything else. I plopped myself against the edge and sat on my feet. I gnawed at my lip.

Morelli cleared his throat. "About last night…"

I nodded. "Yeah. 'Bout that…" I trailed off awkwardly. Damn it, why was this so hard?

Because I knew that what we were going to discuss was going to hurt. It would hurt me because it had happened to me, and it would hurt Morelli because he'd think the last couple of weeks had been a lie. That I'd been holding back all this time. We'd had some pretty sincere talks, but some subjects just never came up. We'd discussed Ramirez and Alpha, and what might happen if some of the other drug dealers got involved. We'd talked about Lula a little. She'd been doing well. They would release her from the hospital in a few days, and I sincerely hoped that she wouldn't go back to being a hooker. It was a dangerous way to live.

We just hadn't really talked about us and what had gone on in the time that I'd decided to pursue Morelli as an FTA in order to get the ten thousand dollars. After Morelli told me, that first day, about the _other_ poetry he'd written regarding our sexual encounter, we'd pretty much agreed not to discuss it. Put it behind us, brush it under the rug. Whatever you wanted to call it. And while Morelli had been pretty good about not pushing anything sexually when I was in one of my more vulnerable states, there had been some flirting. Which I was generally okay with, because it meant that he still considered me attractive and worth pursuing. It was kind of flattering. I knew I wasn't ugly, but I'd never been in the running for the supermodel career. And while my choice not to get married again after Dickie had been just that, there were times when I questioned if I'd be able to have a relationship should I ever want one.

I must have looked lost in thought, because Morelli spoke up.

"It was more than just the toothpaste."

The way he said it…he didn't make it a question, but it was evident that it wasn't entirely a fact. More like a suggestion. Something to expand on. A conversation starter. Since my ability to communicate over the past twelve or so hours had been reduced to zilch.

"It was more than the toothpaste," I confirmed.

He waited while I tried to figure out what to say next. When I remained silent for another five minutes or so, studying the patterns on my jeans, Morelli decided to speak up again.

"Is it about us?"

I sighed. "Yeah, it's definitely about us." I stared at my jeans again. Morelli shifted on the couch so that he was sitting closer to me. He didn't reach out and grab my hand or anything, but I guess he figured he wanted to be able to if it looked like I wanted that.

Why was this so hard? I took a deep breath. "Remember the night you broke into my apartment because I'd stolen your car? And you wanted the distributor cap back?"

_And you handcuffed me to the shower,_ I added mentally.

"Yeah, Steph. I remember that."

I noticed that his face had turned red and he wasn't exactly looking at me. Well, that was okay. Maybe we'd be able to say more if we weren't staring at each other.

"I guess I'm still really angry about that. I mean," I added quickly, "not so much that you broke in. Well, not _just_ that. More the fact that you barged in on me when I was naked and…"

I felt my throat close up and couldn't finish the sentence. I covered my face with my hands and felt the tears start to form in my eyes.

_You'd _better_ not cry, Stephanie Plum,_ I lectured myself. _Don't you dare cry!_

I didn't, or couldn't, listen to myself. But I kept my face covered, vowing not to let Morelli see my tears.

"…and chained you to the shower rod," he finished when it was clear I wasn't going to be able to. "Steph…"

I didn't realize he'd taken me in his arms until I felt them close around me. It should have felt intrusive, but I instantly felt ten times better. Not myself again, not by a long shot. But at least Morelli knew to some extent. Maybe he'd been keeping it bottled up like I had. I didn't want to, but I felt myself nestle against him, relaxing. I lowered my hands from my face.

I seemed to be able to talk now. "I can't believe you did that!" I almost yelled, still wrapped up in his arms, my head pressed against his chest. "Do you have any idea, any fucking idea, how awful that was? How low, how completely below the belt?"

My tears came more quickly now, and I felt him rubbing my back. It felt so good that I almost wanted to end the conversation then and there, just stay wrapped up in his arms, lulled into safety. But I knew I couldn't do that. I had to get it all out.

I turned and faced him, glaring. I expected him to be stony faced, maybe embarrassed. Wanting to make me feel better, sure, but only so that this would be over with. Instead, I could see that Morelli was in pain. Might have been holding back a few tears of his own.

"I know you gave me the phone, but you could have just unlocked the cuffs. You could have let me go. Hell, you could have made me wait in the bedroom while you ransacked my apartment. You could have let me put on some fucking clothes!" I was really yelling now, but made no move to get up from his hug. Who knows, maybe the physical closeness was what was letting me get it all out.

"I couldn't call my parents because they'd never look at me the same way again. I couldn't call my sister because not only did she not have a key, she would have called my parents. Mary Lou was out of the question…"

I trailed off then. It hadn't occurred to me to call my best friend. I should have called her. She would have been ticked off, annoyed that I'd woken up her and her family. But that wouldn't have stopped her from trying to help. She knew how to use the fire escape, and if Morelli had been able to get in through the window, she would have gotten through no problem. He hadn't replaced the screen.

Hell, Mary Lou should have been the first person I considered. Why hadn't I thought of that before? Why had I called Ranger instead of my best friend?

I'd deal with that later.

"I had to call Ranger," I concluded. "I had to call an almost complete stranger because you, Joe Morelli, decided it would be fun to leave me locked up in my own apartment after you practically destroyed the place!"

My confusion was replaced with newfound anger. I wanted to hurt Morelli, really wanted to hurt him.

And it looked like I had. Morelli obviously knew that I'd managed to get out of the cuffs, out of the bathroom. But he'd never asked how and I'd never volunteered. I almost smiled. His flirting and ploys to get me into bed with him might not be serious indicators that he wanted an actual relationship, but no guy wants to hear that someone he finds hot was naked, alone, with another man.

And he knew that he'd caused it.

If I felt truly evil, I would have said that Ranger and I had sex then. That we'd laughed at Morelli and decided to name our first kid Joe, after the guy who'd brought us together. But there were lines, and I knew that would cross one. Maybe I'd cross it, someday, but for now it was enough to know that Morelli's stupidity had resulted in the possible interest from another man.

A man who any sane girl would drool after. Would lust over.

And I realized, hiding a smile, that I didn't even have to lie about Ranger and I having sex. Because that was implied. Because now Morelli would have something bugging him.

In a sense, we were kind of even.

Well, not totally even. Endangering my life was worse than what I'd done. Even if Ranger and I had decided to have sex then and there, Morelli could hardly fault me for it. He'd essentially caused it.

When I looked up at him again, I realized that Morelli was reconsidering the gravity of the situation. Good. He'd see now why I couldn't fully trust him.

His arms were still wrapped around me. Tightly, as though I'd run off and disappear from his life.

"Stephanie."

I glanced up at him, again, my anger fading. Exhaustion seeping in once more.

"Stephanie," he repeated. "I am so, so sorry. You're right. You're completely right. What I did was horrible."

"Unforgivable," I added, but I wasn't so sure that was true. Hadn't I let him back into my life?

But he was nodding. "You're right." He hugged me tighter, almost squeezing the air out of my lungs.

I squirmed, and he loosened his grip. "I sort of need air to breathe," I grumbled, putting my head back against his chest.

He laughed at this, but it was hollow. "At the time, I wasn't thinking. I know, I know. That's no excuse," he added, anticipating my protests. "It was cruel on my part. Unnecessary. I'm sorry."

"I just…" I paused, not sure how to go on. "I want us to be friends. I want to trust you. But how…" I trailed off again.

How can I trust you? But I couldn't finish the sentence.

He removed an arm from around my waist and stroked my hair. "Stephanie, it will _never_ happen again. If I do anything like that again you can…" He paused, thinking. "You can shoot me in the foot."

I snorted. "Joe Morelli, if anything like that happens again, you sure as hell better believe that I would shoot you in a much more…personal…area than that."

He winced. "Fair enough."

I sighed and settled back against his chest. "Okay. I forgive you. _This_ time."

The hand that was stroking my hair resumed rubbing my back. It felt nice.

"I'll protect you, Cupcake," he murmured as I curled up next to him. "I'll keep you safe."

I had my doubts about this, but I decided to let them go. The conversation was over, and it had gone well enough. To my surprise, Morelli hadn't even focused too much on the Ranger aspect. Maybe he would, at some point, but for now it seemed to dawn on him that what he'd done had had lasting repercussions. That I was a human being with feelings, not someone he could just use and dismiss when the timing didn't work out.

That I cared enough to let me know this.

And that he'd probably never have sex again, with anyone, if he pulled something like that again.

Yeah, on the whole, it had gone well.

We stayed cuddled together for awhile, not saying anything, not even watching TV. It was turning out to be one of those lazy days. Good. I was emotionally drained, and had run over six miles. I could use a rest.

"Hey, Cupcake?" he asked later, as I repositioned myself in his arms. My side was getting kind of sore. "You up for a game of Scrabble?"

**A/N: Shortly after I saved this chapter, the following conversation occurred between myself, Stephanie, and Joe Morelli. I'm posting it here because it should explain why the next chapter ends up being a repetition of this one. Also, it's kind of funny.**

Post chapter character/author reactions:

Me: (grumbling) That was harder than I expected. Steph, I thought we were just going to have you tell Morelli what happened and it wouldn't include so much dialogue.

Stephanie: (pouting) You should have done that. You made me out as a complete lunatic.

Morelli: Hey, at least she told it from your point of view! I haven't had one chapter that tells things the way I see them. You're the star in this fanfic. (glares at me)

Me: (looks away innocently)

Morelli: Steph, I keep telling you that the shower rod incident was a one time thing! Janet Evanovich made me do it! (Steph nods. Morelli addresses me) When are you going to let up about the whole thing? It's just fiction.

Me: (stiffly) I felt like I had to portray Stephanie's emotions and feelings in this story. I didn't mean it to bash you, Morelli. I'm a Cupcake fan. _You _know that. I like your character.

Stephanie: As opposed to mine, which she clearly hates!

Me: (calmly) Stephanie, that's not true. Okay, sometimes I want to shake you when I read the books because…

Stephanie: I hear you. Janet Evanovich goes out of her way to make me look bad.

Morelli: (looks like he wants to say something, but doesn't)

Me: (not saying anything)

(Everyone shifts awkwardly in their seats. Morelli puts a hand over Stephanie's shoulder. Stephanie looks like she wants to swat it away, but doesn't. Morelli grins.)

Morelli: I'm just saying, you made me look like this villain in this chapter. I want to tell it from _my_ perspective in the next one.

Me: (appeasing) If that's what you want. If you tell me what to write, I'll do it. (pause) But this fanfic is PG-13. I'm not writing anything that's R.

Stephanie: (peering at the ffn website) I thought this was rated T. FFN doesn't even have an R rating.

Me: Yes, they do. It's rated M. And if I make this fic M, it won't show up on the lists. Also, I'll get nightmares for the rest of my life. Okay, Morelli? You can have the next chapter, but it better fit into the T rating.

Morelli: (not looking happy about this) That will put me out of character.

Me: (folding arms across her chest) Tough. (Turns to Stephanie) Do you want Morelli to have his own chapter?

(Morelli turns to Stephanie, still with an arm around her shoulders. Stephanie shrugs.)

Stephanie: You're the fanfiction writer. It's ultimately you choice. But keep bugging her and you'd be surprised at what you can get away with. (I glare at Stephanie, who rolls her eyes at me.) Well, it's true.

Me: (wanting the conversation to be over with) Morelli, it's your choice. You can have the next chapter, but it can only retell what this one told, and you can't go past the PG-13 rating.

Stephanie (in a stage whisper): Or what _she_ thinks is a PG-13 rating.

Morelli: Fine, but why can't it last longer than where we're at right now?

Me: (patiently) Because this is Stephanie's story. If the readers don't want to hear your point of view, they can ignore the next chapter and not miss anything.

Morelli: Can I get future chapters too?

Me: Probably not, but we'll see. I don't want this fic to be twenty chapters.

Stephanie: (to Morelli) She always says that, and then she always writes way more chapters than she plans. Have you seen how many unfinished fanfics she's written? It's horrible.

Me: (attempts to chase after Stephanie with a knife. Stephanie pulls out her pepper spray and I back off. She smirks.)

Morelli: Cupcake, you'd never use it on her. She's a Cupcake fan. We need more of those.

Stephanie: (to Morelli) Fine. (to me) Please let me shoot him soon! He's driving me up the wall…

Me: (pondering) Hmm…

Morelli: (aghast) I thought you were a Cupcake fan!

(This conversation continues for an indefinite period of time, but it would take too much space to write everything down. Please be assured that no characters or fanfiction writers were hurt in the process. All you really need to know is that Morelli will be narrating the next chapter, whenever I get the time to write it. If he has his way, it will be within the next few days.)


	7. Serious Talk Morelli

**Morelli's POV:**

It wasn't easy living with Stephanie.

Not that I'd expected it to be.

Well, I hadn't really thought much about it before. I just saw that she was hurting, and figured that I'd be able to help her if I was around. I mean, I had offered a truce/friendship earlier that afternoon, and she'd accepted it. Sure, we'd had a small disagreement after she learned that I'd written about us having sex in more than one location, but that was minor.

I'd decided to move into her apartment when I saw how violently she'd reacted during a nightmare. We'd eaten most of the pizza and she'd fallen asleep while I was watching TV. That part had been kind of nice. I'd had my arm around her, and she had positioned herself so that her face was pressed up against the side of my chest that had the arm around her. I think I'd been playing with her hair with my other arm. Anyway, she'd been quiet for awhile, and all of the sudden, she started to snore.

Cute, right? I'd slept with my fair share of women, but most of them didn't snore. Or, not the way Stephanie did. She'd deny it if I said anything, but the noise she made when she snored sounded adorable. So I'd continued to watch the game on TV while stealing looks at her every ten minutes or so. The snores weren't continuous, which was probably a good thing. I mean, since she'd definitely end up getting married again, and her future husband would need to wear earplugs if his wife snored from 10PM until 7AM.

But Steph's snores were sudden and completely random. Not loud enough to wake someone up. Not even loud enough to keep someone from falling asleep. Just loud enough for someone who was already awake to hear, and to find endearing (me) or annoying (most guys).

Then the nightmares had started, and when she'd finally woken herself up, she'd been in a panic. It had taken awhile to calm her down, and I'd asked how often she'd had these nightmares. Steph hadn't given me a straight answer, so I'd known enough from my years as a cop that this meant they were giving her trouble on a daily—or almost daily—basis. Cops should be doctors—we can really read people. Know what's bugging them. You'd find out more about someone in a ten minute meeting than you would in a half hour doctor's consult.

Anyway.

She'd resisted me moving in, and I could tell that she was not only giving it serious thought, but probably had wanted me to suggest it because she'd been lonely. Not lonely in the "I'm a single thirty year old woman and I will never get married so boo hoo" way, but because she'd been through a lot over the past three weeks, but obviously wasn't about to move back in with her parents. Even though, if they were anything like the rest of the parents in the Burg, they'd love to have her move back in. Probably wanted her to move back in for the rest of her life, or until she got remarried, or both.

After a lot of convincing on my part, Stephanie had agreed to let me stay with her, but we had to develop some ground rules. Some of her rules were really strange. For example, she'd wanted to sleep with her bedroom door locked.

That kind of hurt. Did she think I was going to attack her in her sleep?

She'd also wanted to take a shower with that door locked. Again, did she think I was going to attack her? I guess females were picky about hygiene, so I agreed to that one. If she wanted to risk falling and hurting herself because the door was locked and I couldn't help, that was her loss.

I'd wanted a key to her apartment. I got to admit, I kind of enjoyed freaking her out by saying I wouldn't make any copies of the key. Because she probably hadn't even considered it until I'd said something. But my arguments had convinced her, and I had a key to her place. Obviously, I wouldn't make any copies of it. But if she forgot to ask for it back at the end of my stay, I probably wouldn't remind her.

So, things had been going pretty well over the past two weeks. Her stitches came out a few days ago, and it was pretty clear that she was happy about that. Moving around easier. Was happy that she could take baths instead of just showers. I'd let slip a comment about being able to help her with that, and the look she gave me made it clear she'd like to drown me. I'd been trying to keep those comments to a minimum since then. Didn't want her to think I'd overstayed my welcome, and then regress back into nightmares because I wasn't there to help her.

Last night had been especially nice. At night, we tend to keep physical interaction to a minimum. I sleep on the couch, she sleeps in her bed. If I hear Steph yelling in the middle of the night, I'll check on her and maybe stay for an hour or so while she calms down. This usually involves me holding her until she falls asleep. Of course, by the time she falls asleep, I'm pretty tired, and her bed is a hell of a lot more comfortable than the couch. So I usually end up falling asleep on the bed, still holding Stephanie, and trying to leave the bed in the morning before she wakes up. Sometimes I manage it, sometimes I don't. She hasn't gotten too angry if she sees me there when she wakes up, but I know better than to join her in bed when she's about to go to sleep for the first time that night.

Until last night.

Things had been going well, so I'd gotten kind of cocky. The weather had been shifting from really warm to kind of chilly, but Stephanie's landlord was too cheap to turn on the heat for the tenants. I'd had to get some stuff from my place earlier that day, and one of the things I'd picked up was a thick, really warm blanket that I used in the winter when I lived at home. I hadn't used it for awhile, so I decided to give it to Stephanie.

She wouldn't accept it as a gift, so I'd acted like it was a loan.

I'd been pretty smooth about it. I'd gone into her room when she'd been reading, probably almost ready to go to bed. Tucked her in and then, really casually, sat on the bed as though I'd just wanted to chat for awhile before we turned in. Made a few comments about how nice she smelled, and that's when it all went downhill.

She'd totally freaked out when I told her I'd been using her toothpaste. I'd only admitted to it because I'd figured out she'd been using my conditioner.

Which I had absolutely no problem with. Her hair had been softer and it smelled better. Stephanie always looked hot, but this was a definite improvement. So I'd figured we'd bond (and maybe do more) if I told her that I'd been using her toothpaste. Not the toothbrush. And not even a whole lot of the toothpaste. It just tasted better than mine, and I'd probably buy the kind she used anyway. But she'd totally freaked out.

People say that men don't always get what women are thinking. That's because women never tell you what they think! Women can have conversations with other women, analyzing what a guy tells them, looking for the real meaning behind it, when the guy usually just means what he says. Problem is, women use this coded approach when they talk to men. We say what we mean—they say something that's totally not what they mean and expect us to know their code and understand it. Talk about a language barrier.

Well, the good part was that Stephanie hadn't kicked me out of her bed, but the bad part was that I knew she was totally ticked off for something that probably went beyond toothpaste and hair products. And when I woke up the next day, she was gone. Now, _that_ was unusual. Usually I woke up first, and if I didn't, she'd just be taking a shower or cleaning Rex's cage or some mundane everyday chore. I looked around the apartment to see if she'd left a note, but she hadn't. She was just gone.

It didn't look like anything was missing, but I'm not too observant. Her toothbrush and other toiletries were still in the bathroom, but she might have gone home. I didn't think she'd been kidnapped or anything, but I was still concerned. Not panicked, but worried. And yeah, maybe a little annoyed because she hadn't said anything or left a note. I mean, okay, so we weren't exactly living together, but didn't she know that I'd be concerned if she disappeared without any explanation?

I waited around for awhile, trying not to get too worried about it. As a cop, I have to deal with this kind of thing more than I'd like. Disappearing spouses and all of that. The husband or wife usually waits a few hours before calling us, but there isn't a whole lot we can do until more than a full day has passed. Almost always, the missing husband or wife comes back, and we find out they "disappeared" because of some argument. In fact, I don't think I'd ever dealt with a real kidnapping case in all of my years as a cop.

It was more likely that Stephanie decided to take a walk or start her job early and hadn't decided it was worth the trouble to inform me. She was probably still angry about the previous night, although why my using her toothpaste would bother her so much was beyond me.

Hell, I'd get her more toothpaste if she wanted it. The stuff cost what—maybe three dollars? I knew she had been having some hard times in terms of money, but three dollars wouldn't go _that_ far.

I made some scrambled eggs, but when Steph didn't return, I ate them. I waited for another half an hour before starting some oatmeal, cooking it on the lowest heat her stove had. I could put that in her refrigerator if she didn't come back soon. But she arrived just as the oatmeal was ready, so I shut off the stove and resolved not to get angry. I was a guest, after all. We were probably due for a talk anyway, so I'd just bring that up casually.

She looked awful. She smelled worse. It was all I could do not to wrinkle my nose and take a few steps back. Stephanie had been dealing with her anger by running, and it was pretty clear she'd pushed herself too hard. Stephanie tries to run a few times a week, usually just for a few miles. I'd joined her on occasion. Her route was pretty safe, so while I would have urged her to stop while Ramirez was on the loose, now I didn't have any problem with her running alone. This time, it looked like she'd done her usual route at least twice. She'd also stopped at one of the bakeries for food and coffee, which I considered to be a smart move because she probably wouldn't have made it back to the apartment without the sugar and caffeine.

We exchanged a few pleasantries and then she sat down to eat the oatmeal I'd prepared. I put the remaining muffin in one of the cabinets so she'd have something to snack on later. She ate pretty quickly and then announced that she was going to take a shower and a nap.

At some point, I brought up the subject of what had happened the previous night, apologizing again, and she agreed that we should discuss the bigger issue. Then, she said that she wanted to shower and take a nap before getting into things. I wanted her to know that I was there for her and willing to listen, and I think she got it. In order to lighten the mood, I suggested that we play some board games I'd brought back from my apartment. Finally, I gave her a hug (which wasn't easy because she still smelled, but what the hell, I'd take a shower after she was finished) and let her go.

I didn't have much case work to do, so I figured I'd work on the book that Eddie lent me. It was called "The Number One Ladies' Detective Agency" and took place in Africa, around now. It was fiction, about a woman, Precious Ramotswe (but the book always referred to her as Ma Ramotswe) who's father had left her a ton of money in the form of animals before he died, but told her that she should start a business so that she could support herself and not just live off the money. The woman decided to open a detective agency, so she could charge people for solving mysteries that were bugging them. In one of the early chapters, Ma Ramotswe's friend goes to her because she thinks her husband is cheating on her. In another chapter, someone hears about the business and wants help because someone claiming to be her father wants to be part of her life. The client doesn't know if the man is really her dad or if he just wants someone to cook for him and a place to stay rent free. It was a pretty light read, and I was over halfway through with the book when I heard Stephanie open her bedroom door.

Then she headed to the bathroom.

On the way back to her room, I asked if she was going to get up for real soon, and she complained that she'd hurt her knee from running. I offered to keep her company, figuring she'd like that and maybe we could start the conversation. I knew she wasn't ready to have sex, but she might be more open minded towards taking things further if I had my arm around her or something.

Well, she pretty much blew me off and I found myself sitting on the couch and trying to read the book. Except, it didn't seem as interesting anymore, and I was feeling pretty antsy, so I figured that I'd go for a walk. I _did_ leave a note for Steph, but I expected to be back before she woke up. And I was. She finally emerged and I knew that she was up for real because she'd gotten dressed in jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt. She disappeared into the bathroom, probably to wash her face or brush her teeth again, and then came out several minutes later. I'd been going over some paperwork for one of my cases when she came out, and was all set to put them aside, but then Steph headed into the kitchen and I figured she was going to make herself some lunch.

I mentally slapped myself, thinking that I should have thought of that. She usually took care of lunch, while I handled breakfasts and dinners, but I should have realized that it was after 1PM and she'd be hungry. I heard her cleaning Rex's cage, and wished that I had thought to do that as well.

Except that might have made Stephanie angry, like I was trying to take over Rex's life. With women, you never know what they'll like and what they'll hate. I'd been living with Stephanie for three weeks, and whatever good pattern we'd had going on had been pretty much shattered last night. And I still wasn't entirely sure why.

I shifted my position on the couch so that she wouldn't think I was a pig for taking up the whole thing. Well, Steph probably still thought I was a pig, but for different reasons. It turned out to be the right decision, because she sat down as we exchanged pleasantries as she munched on a bunch of grapes. They looked pretty good, and any other time I would have stolen a few from her, but I figured that I was still on thin ice and better not do anything that she'd get angry about.

Of course, the problem with women is that you never know when you do anything if they'll get angry about it. I dated this one woman, once, who thought "sexy" was practically a dirty word. Another woman acted offended if I said she looked "beautiful" instead of "hot". And it's not like they tell you this beforehand, so both times I was left wondering throughout the rest of the date what I'd done wrong and why they were both looking at me like I was the lowest piece of scum on the earth.

Okay, I know I can be a jerk, but there _are_ people out there who are truly heinous. I, at least, try to be nice towards the opposite sex.

I figured the conversation would never start unless I moved it along, so I did. I asked Stephanie what was wrong, and she seemed willing to talk about it. I felt relieved, but that was only fleeting because Stephanie spent another five minutes or so trying to figure out how to start out the conversation.

I wanted to say, "Just say it!" but in the past (with other women, girlfriends or not), that never really went over too well. Stephanie didn't look like she'd appreciate it if I said that, so I just waited, patiently, as she fumbled around for the right words.

Finally, she asked if I remembered the night I'd broken into her apartment and handcuffed her to the shower. I admitted that I had, because it wasn't like it had happened several years ago. I remembered what I did, pretty vividly.

And, to be honest, I'd felt pretty lousy about it afterwards. If a woman came into my office and told me that someone she knew had done that, I'd have been pretty damned pissed off. I'd probably throw a few punches at the guy who did that to her if I found him and had my handcuffs on me. Police brutality is pretty much discouraged because if it happens too often, we get a bad rep. But violence against women is frowned upon even more in the police force.

Not so much in my family. I'd grown up seeing my dad hit my mom on various occasions, even though his main acts of violence were towards me and the other underage males in my family. It was like that in my extended family, too. Violence was just a way of life, and while no kid had ever been sent to the ER because of something his father did, what the males did would probably put us in child protective services if someone had been brave enough to tell. Girls definitely had it easier, but spanking and other forms of violence were the norm rather than the exception. Maybe it was because there was so much drinking going on, or maybe the Morellis were just hot tempered. In any event, kids survived it and usually grew up to do the same thing.

Not that I was justifying what I'd done to Stephanie that night, but there were reasons behind it. Probably, I should have waited until she'd gotten dressed instead of barging in. Locked her in her room while I looked around her apartment. Or just waited until she fell asleep and took my chances at waking her up. But that was all hindsight. And when I got angry, I tended to take it out on the person who caused it. Stephanie had been a thorn in my side since she'd started working for Vinnie, and I was sick of having to evade her while protecting her.

I mean, there was no way I'd let Ramirez have his way with her. I'd risk exposure before I let that happen. But if I could scare Stephanie off the case, I had no problem with doing that.

Still, like I said, I felt really rotten afterwards. Especially after I'd heard, the next day from someone in the burg, someone complaining about having to reinstate her phone service. I mean, if I thought there was any way Stephanie wouldn't be able to get help, I'd have been back the next day. I'd have made her that steak dinner before Ramirez got to that stripper friend of hers, and we'd have worked out an alliance. But the next time I saw her, she seemed fine, and it was easier just to forget about what had happened.

Until now.

So I took Stephanie in my arms as she talked, and tried to act as comforting and sincere as I felt. People have told me in the past that I don't always act how I mean to. This was definitely one time I needed there to be no communication barriers. I listened to her vent her feelings, acknowledging to myself that this must be especially difficult because our friendship was still pretty tentative.

Not only that, but she didn't trust me. Which I guess I had known, but it still hurt to hear it.

Honestly, that hurt more than hearing that Stephanie had invited Ranger into her apartment to help her escape the cuffs. The fact that Ranger had seen Stephanie naked made me sick, and if I hadn't been feeling awful for the pain I'd caused Steph, that alone would have made me regret even considering it. I wondered what they'd done afterwards, but Stephanie didn't say anything about that. I didn't ask.

I apologized, multiple times, and continued to hold Stephanie. I massaged her back for awhile, which I knew she liked. I promised her that I would keep her safe, which wasn't anything new as far as my plans with her concerned, but I figured she'd want to hear it.

After she calmed down enough for me to let go of her, we played a few games of Scrabble. I'd planned on letting her win, but she was better than I would have expected. She didn't know a lot of crazy words that people who participated in Scrabble tournaments did, but she was really good with using the double word scores and even got a few of the triple word scores. We played three games, and I think she could have played more, but I was too embarrassed at being beaten so badly, so we switched to a more even game. Then, we watched some TV and I made us a snack.

Later that night, I kept wondering about what had happened between Stephanie and Ranger that night. Wondered if I could ask her, if she'd tell me if I did. After a lot of tossing and turning, I decided that they probably hadn't had sex, because at that point it must have been really late, and Ranger wasn't the type to take advantage of a woman. His methods with criminals were shady, but he wasn't the type to go to hookers. His relationship with Steph had been a mentor/student one, and while my prank might have changed how he saw her, I didn't think that he'd take advantage of her. Besides, the two weren't together and I didn't think Stephanie saw him now for any reason except professional ones. I'd have to take the fact that he'd seen her naked as a reason to be extra careful of how I acted around her. Steph was hot, which she seemed to be aware of, and could have almost any guy she wanted. If she decided that she wanted to be in another relationship. The details about her divorce were pretty well known, and it had been an ugly one. Since she hadn't dated anyone since then, it must have had a pretty negative affect on her. I'd like to change her way of thinking, even if I wasn't ready to get married myself. I knew that the first step was friendship, and the first step to that was trust.

Which I was still working on earning.

A/N: Thank you for all of your kind comments! Stephanie and Joe Morelli also appreciated them. (Stephanie and Morelli nod in appreciation and then proceed to take over this chapter…)

**Morelli: You should listen to me more often. This chapter adds so much more to my character. **

**Stephanie: That's because it was written from your point of view. (to me) Ignore him, you don't need him to write a good chapter.**

**Morelli: (glaring at Steph) Hey!**

**Me: (trying not to laugh) Well, I think it went better than I expected. And Joe, I appreciate you keeping it to a PG/PG-13 rating.**

**Morelli: That's because whenever I tried to go above that, you'd stop writing!**

**Me: (kind of smugly) True. You can't really force me to write anything. You guys just bug me to death until I more or less write what you want.**

**Morelli: Exactly.**

**Stephanie: You know, I think we could use more chapters with his point of view. I still want to tell the story, but I like the idea of having a few double chapters. (Morelli and I stare at her in confusion) Like, I tell my side and then Morelli tells his side in the following chapter. Not that he takes over the story.**

**Me: (considering) I like that idea, but we have to limit it. Readers would get bored if the story became twice as long because there were two chapters for everything that happened.**

**Stephanie: (grinning at me) We'd have to keep Morelli under tight control if we did that.**

**Morelli: (glares at me) Why do I feel like it's you two versus me? This wouldn't be a Cupcake fic if I wasn't in it!**

**Me: (reasonably) There's a big difference between your character being in it and your character retelling the same story in every chapter.**

**Stephanie: I keep telling Janet Evanovich that a little Morelli goes a long way. I threaten to quit helping her whenever she suggests inserting his point of view in one of _my_ chapters.**

**Me: But you're okay with me doing it?**

**Stephanie: Mostly. This is fanfiction, after all. I don't get paid as much.**

**Morelli: (stage whisper) You don't get paid at all. Not here, not in Evanovich's books.**

**Stephanie: (rolling eyes) That's what you think. (exchanges conspirator glances with me)**

**Morelli: What? That's not fair!**

**(I walk offstage quietly. Stephanie quickly follows. Morelli continues to remain onstage, grumbling about fair character treatment and the rights of writers.)**


	8. Game night

I may not look it, but I was actually pretty good at Scrabble. Grandma Mazur wasn't your typical grandmother in the tiny old lady with white hair pulled back into a tight bun who wore long skirts regardless of the weather and was constantly knitting, but she did enjoy board games. I learned how to play Scrabble when I was a kid—I used to play with her and my sister—and being the youngest meant I had to work harder to win the game. Looking back, I was pretty sure that my grandmother and sister let me win on occasion, or gave me some tips that led to my victory, but I'd like to think that I got better on my own as well, due to practice.

When I went to college, the RA during my freshman year hosted "Game Nights" every month. It was the kind of thing you'd be made fun of for in high school, because board games were supposed to be something you outgrew along with Barbie dolls and stuffed animals. In college, though, this sort of thing was cool because it was "retro", which meant that if you weren't the type to attend fraternity parties and risk being expelled for drinking, game night was a decent second choice. That's not to say that everyone in my hall turned up, but there was always a good turnout. Even some of the non freshmen came, on occasion, if they were friends with a freshman.

It was one of those programs that the RAs liked because it basically ran itself. They provided snacks and board games. They could either play with the freshmen who chose to participate, or retreat to their dorm rooms and work on homework or watch TV. They had to stay in the building because they were "supervising" the program, but they knew that we were eighteen year old females and probably wouldn't throw a fit if Sally was suspected to have cheated in Monopoly.

I was one of those students who showed up every month, unless I had an exam to study for or other plans. Actually, now that I think about it, I can't remember actually missing those programs because I had a test to study for. This was college—you were there to have a social life. In fact, under gunpoint I might be forced to admit to being one of those non freshmen after I finished my first year. I wasn't there every time, but I stopped in occasionally.

Scrabble was one of the popular games at these programs when I was there. Partly because it was easy to understand but a challenge to play. It wasn't so much about knowing a lot of complicated words. It was more about knowing how to make use of the double word spaces and triple letter spaces. Also, if you were able to use some of the letters that got you more points, like Q and X, and managed to form a few on a triple word score square, that kind of thing could seriously save your butt. The games got pretty competitive at times, making the ones I had with my sister and grandmother look like swimming in a kiddie pool. The winners never actually got a prize, but you'd never know that was the case by the way they played.

I learned fast, and even remember some of what I learned up to today. I knew that Qi and Suq are words, but I have no idea what they mean. I knew that you can use Xi, but you can't use Ix. I knew that Zen is never considered a word, even though most people have some idea of what it is. I also remembered that you can use AI or AA as words if you have too many vowels, but they'll never give you many points.

After college, I figured that my Scrabble days were behind me. I rarely won, unless you count when we played on teams and I got paired up with someone who was really good. I wasn't about to sign up for Scrabble tournaments or buy one of those Scrabble dictionaries that got updated every year by some Scrabble committee. But I did end up playing from time to time, mostly with some of the seniors in my building. Like I said, it's not like a every Friday night activity. Not even a monthly activity. But I'd play at least six games in an average year. I never really forgot those obscure words that no one uses in everyday life, but can make or break your Scrabble score. I guessed it was like learning how to ride a bike—you never really forget it.

If I played against Morelli, I'd like to know whether I had a decent shot at beating him. He didn't strike me as the type to attend Scrabble tournaments. Then again, most people I played against seemed surprised that I knew how to play. Looks could be deceiving.

"Have you played much?" I asked Morelli. We were still sitting close together, and his arm was still draped around my waist, but we had moved past the hugging stage. I couldn't say whether I was happy about this or disappointed. I wasn't exactly touchy feely, and there's only so much cuddling you can do with a guy before it becomes non platonic. So far, Morelli and I hadn't crossed this line since he'd moved in.

Well, okay. Maybe we toed it, on occasion. But definitely not crossed it.

"I know how to play," he replied. "But I can't say as I've played much in the past few years. You don't get a lot of opportunities to play board games on the police squad."

I wasn't sure if this was supposed to be a joke or insulting. Since I'd pretty much yelled myself out for the day, and believed that Joe Morelli was at least half decent most of the time, I decided that he meant it as a joke.

"I don't play all that often," I remarked. "When I did play, I wasn't all that great."

Okay, so that was definitely a fib. Granted, I wouldn't be winning trophies anytime soon, but I was 90% certain that I was better than average. I mean, most people don't use words that don't appear in everyday conversation.

He grinned. "It's just for fun. No hard feelings."

So he thought he'd have no trouble beating me, did he? Ha! I'd show him…

"Let's keep score. Just for fun," I replied, echoing his earlier statement.

He shrugged and brought out the game with two pens and a piece of paper. I slid off the couch, figuring it would be easier to play on the floor. Morelli followed suit, and before long we were engaged in a "fun" and "noncompetitive" game of Scrabble.

Translation: I was beating his pants off.

When Morelli said that he knew how to play, he meant just that. He knew the rules. He also knew that, in theory, you were supposed to use your letters to score the highest combination possible. Attention to the double word bonus scores was vital if you wanted a high score. Morelli pretty much ignored their existence and formed words that used as many letters as possible, but in the wrong places. He also didn't think to block any of the spots that had the potential for really high scores.

Here's an example. At one point, he used the word "pink". Not too bad, but you could add an "s" to that word and land up in a triple word score spot. So, not only would I get points for pinks times three, I could use that same "s" to start another word. I used that "s" to make "soup". "Soup" would have given me seven points because the first three letters were one point letters. "P" was four points, so not very high scoring, but still nothing to laugh at. Morelli's "pink" landed him four points for the "p", two points for the "i" and "n", and then five points for the "k", landing him a total of eleven points. If it weren't for the fact that I hijacked the triple word space for both words and got a triple word score for both of them, I'd only somewhat be in the lead. I'd have gotten twelve points for "pinks" and then another 7 points for "soup", giving me a respectable nineteen points. Because if you add an "s" to a letter, you get the full amount of points for that word. Which I was willing to bet that Morelli had forgotten.

My score for that move ended up being 57. 36 for Morelli's word, and another 21 for mine.

Morelli was convinced that I'd added up the numbers incorrectly when he saw what I put down for my score that round. He was only convinced I was right when he added up the figures three times and got the same number each time.

I tried not to gloat when I won 356 to 130. Or when I beat him the second time with an even higher score.

I tried to be nicer during the third game, but I still won by well over a hundred points. I couldn't help it—it was like Morelli was trying to lose.

Except I knew he wasn't, because his face had that expression on it that was a mixture of anger and bewilderment. If we had been playing for cash, I wouldn't have had to find that third FTA. If we'd been playing for cash for each move, I probably could retire if we continued playing three games a day for the duration of his stay. Even if he was only here for another week.

"I thought you weren't any good at this?" he asked me, running a hand through his head.

"I've played before," I retorted. "I've never entered competitions, but my sister and I used to play against my grandmother."

Okay, so I'd left out the part about college game nights. The last one I'd played in was eight years ago. And I didn't mention that I played some of the people in my building, because I didn't exactly play them every week.

He wasn't convinced. "You can't mean that you haven't played since you were a kid."

Direct question. Ouch. Guess I was caught.

"I live in a building filled with senior citizens," I explained. "They love to do stuff like this."

He began to pick up the tiles and put them back in the box. Guess that meant the game was over. I helped him out with the tiles. I figured the conversation was over, but it turned out that Morelli was just thinking.

"Cupcake, are you seriously telling me that you spend all of your free time playing Scrabble with a bunch of old folks?"

"No!" I snapped back. "Maybe a few times a year."

Okay, six was definitely more than a few. But it wasn't like I was hosting Scrabble parties in my apartment every night. I got in some practice, but I was willing to bet that Morelli was especially bad. He didn't even check to see if his letters were in a position that scored him extra points.

"I also played in college," I added, feeling I might as well admit to that. "During my freshman year, the RA held game night once a month."

"That was one year…"

I turned red. "Okay, so I came back sometimes during my other years. A lot of people did! It wasn't a crime!"

I said the last part in kind of a squeak. Technically, hall programs were designed for freshmen. It had kind of been against the rules to go after that year. In practice, attendance looked good, and the people who judged the RAs on their performance liked to see that their programs had lots of people. If a portion of those people weren't the _preferred_ audience, the administration tended to turn a blind eye towards it. People like me became "honorary freshmen" so they could count us as part of the total.

It really helped for when the RAs were required to do "educational" programs, like the dangers of drunk driving, and almost no one showed up. Averages and all of that.

It wasn't like I'd been serving beer to minors.

Morelli kind of chuckled at that and gave my hair a playful tug as he stood up to return Scrabble to the plastic bag.

"Ouch!" I complained, rubbing my head.

Morelli rolled his eyes. "That didn't really hurt, did it?"

"Not _really_," I admitted, removing my hand from my head.

He rummaged through the games. He'd brought a lot of them. Aside from Scrabble, there was Clue, Guess Who, Monopoly, Apples to Apples, Connect Four, Checkers, Chess, and Candyland.

Yes, Candyland. Seeing me looking at the odd assortment, Morelli grimaced.

"They were from my mom. She was doing some house cleaning."

"Why would she give them to you? Why not your siblings with kids?"

Morelli picked up the Clue box. "I sort of told her I was spending time with a friend who was having some problems and we could use them as a distraction."

He didn't look at me when he said this, which was fortunate for him because the look I was giving him would have sent him running in the opposite direction.

"You told her I was mentally disturbed?"

He raised his hands in mock surrender. "I didn't say who it was. Besides, you told me you didn't want people to know I was living with you. I figured this was safer."

I exhaled. It wasn't worth fighting about. No _real_ harm had been done. Besides, I'd gotten to seriously kick his ass at Scrabble. We were even.

Mostly.

"We're playing Clue now?" I asked, more to have something to say which would effectively change the subject than because I thought I needed to ask the question.

"I figured it would be a more even game, since you failed to tell me that you were a Scrabble champion."

"Hardly." I reached into the box and tried to locate the directions. It had been awhile since I'd played this, but I remembered it having to do with someone being murdered and the players having to figure out who did it.

We spent about twenty minutes trying to figure out the rules and realized it was better suited for three people. Neither of us wanted to recruit someone in my building, but the game was already set up. We decided to play for the heck of it.

Morelli won. Kind of. He solved the mystery, but it ended up being his player who committed the murder. Professor Plum killed the colonel with a candlestick in the library.

"That's bizarre," I commented afterwards. "How can you _murder_ someone with a candlestick?"

Morelli frowned. "Either you set them on fire, or you hit them really hard over the head."

I leaned against the couch, still sitting on the floor. "In real life, you wouldn't have much trouble figuring out the room. I mean, that's usually where the body is. Not that it really matters. I always thought that figuring out _who_ did it was the most important part."

"You're only saying that because you thought it was the rope," Morelli answered evenly. "It's not the most realistic game, but figuring out the weapon and the location of the murder can sometimes help the cops learn who might have done it. Sometimes, a guy will shoot another guy and then throw him in a lake to make it look like he'd drowned."

He had a point. Kind of.

"Is the killer usually one of the people trying to solve the crime?" I asked, standing up and stretching. My legs had stopped hurting, but I still felt sore from too much running.

"Sometimes. They're the ones you don't suspect." He checked his watch. "It's almost 5. You up for an early dinner?"

My stomach growled in response. "Sure, but I'm not sure what we have…"

Morelli headed into the kitchen. "There's leftover pizza, some pasta, whole wheat bread, some peanut butter…"

I interrupted before he could finish reciting every item in my refrigerator. "I think I'll have a sandwich and some of the pasta. Do you want the leftover pizza?"

Assuming he hadn't eaten it already.

Morelli stuck his head out of the refrigerator. "Sure, but I'll make some extra pasta too. Mind if we eat on the couch? There's a game on tonight."

When _wasn't_ there a game on? I didn't mind watching sports if I was actually at the game, but watching them on TV usually made me bored out of my mind.

Not that there was anything else on that I really wanted to watch. And I didn't really want to play any more board games.

Maybe I'd borrow Morelli's book…

Five minutes later, I forced myself out of the couch to help Morelli with dinner. Okay, I couldn't cook, but I could get the plates and stuff ready. He gave my shoulder a squeeze as I walked towards the drawers.

"It's almost ready," he told me as he stirred some cut up vegetables in a pan.

The action reminded me of the first meal Morelli had cooked for me, maybe a month ago. I'd just found out that Ramirez had gotten to Lula and hung her on my fire escape. I'd called the police, and there'd been blood everywhere. They told me she was alive, and I'd spent most of the day in the hospital and at the police station, offering my testimony. I'd been dreading returning to my apartment because Lula's blood would still be there, and I'd have to face the possibility that Ramirez would be back for me. I probably should have stayed at my parents' house, but I knew I'd have to deal with the situation sooner or later.

Morelli had been in my apartment when I got back. He'd broken in, again, but this time he'd been really sweet. Had an amazing steak dinner cooking on the stove. Maybe it had been because I'd just spent the day realizing what Ramirez had been capable of. I probably should have called the police or sprayed him with my pepper spray, but the food had smelled really good and I really hadn't been in the mood to deal with the police.

It had been a good decision. We'd talked and Morelli had offered to let me turn him in if we worked together. He'd been innocent of murder—which I sort of suspected all along. I mean, he could be a jerk, but he was a good cop. He wasn't about to kill someone in cold blood.

Things had gotten better between us since then. He still bugged me sometimes, mostly by undermining my ability to bring in FTAs and acting like I was cute and sexy, but that was it. Still, I knew that he was not a bad person and, ultimately, was on my side. I'd still want to shoot him (or, more realistically, gas him) on occasion, but Morelli seemed to be stuck in my life now.

Which I now recognized to be a good thing.

We ate on the couch as Morelli watched the game. He'd brought his blanket to the couch, in case it got cold earlier than usual, but it was sitting near the edge at the moment. After we'd finished eating, I decided to do the dishes then, since it wasn't like the game was that interesting. I fed Rex a piece of leftover pizza crust and a grape. I washed and dried the dishes and put them back in the cabinet shelves. When I returned, I saw that the blanket had moved onto around his stomach. I sat down next to Morelli and he put an arm around my shoulder.

"You okay?" he asked.

I nodded. "Can I have some of that?" I asked, gesturing towards the blanket. Looking at it was making me feel chilly, even though it really wasn't that cold out.

"Sure thing, Cupcake." He wrapped it around my stomach and over my shoulders, using this as an opportunity to keep his arm around my shoulders and move even closer. The blanket felt softer than I remembered, and I felt myself snuggling against the part of Morelli that had the blanket around him. Might as well make the most of it. He gave me another kiss on the forehead. "Comfy?"

I lifted up my legs so they were on the couch. Much better. "Yeah," I replied, nestling my head against the blanket covering Morelli's shoulder.

He chuckled a little, and then turned his attention towards the game. A few minutes later, I felt his free hand begin to rub my shoulders. I let out a contented sigh. This was making the whole watching the game experience a lot nicer.

I figured I'd just shut my eyes for a few minutes to better enjoy the experience…


	9. Game Night, part 2

My eyes opened and I felt incredibly disoriented. Where _was_ I? This didn't feel like my bed. Had I passed out, or just fallen asleep?

"Mom?" I asked, trying to sit up.

Morelli's face came into my vision and he put an arm around my shoulders, helping me into a sitting position. He left the arm around my shoulders. "No…just me."

I yawned and frowned as I tried to recall what happened. "We were watching TV…"

He laughed gently. "Yeah, there was a game on. You'd finished the dishes and came back to sit on the couch. I started rubbing your back…and I think you fell asleep a few minutes later."

It was my turn to laugh. Everything came back. It was okay. I was safe. Just a little embarrassed.

"I only meant to close my eyes for a few minutes…"

"You were out for over an hour." His free hand, the one not loosely wrapped around my shoulders, began stroking my hair. I hid a grimace, thinking how awful my hair must look. My curls usually turn to frizz after I sleep on them. "You looked so peaceful, so I didn't want to wake you. Even when you started snoring."

I covered my face with my hands. "You're kidding…"

Morelli gave my shoulders a gentle squeeze and removed my hands from my face. "Not loudly. Not even as loud as you normally do. Which isn't that bad…"

I sighed. "I can't believe I took three naps in twenty four hours."

Morelli glanced at his watch. "Closer to twelve hours, actually."

"I'm not normally this lazy," I replied, feeling incredibly useless. "I didn't even manage to track down my last FTA. Or give my rent check to my landlord…"

"Hey." Another shoulder squeeze. "It's okay, Cupcake. You had a really emotional day. I don't blame you for taking it easy. And you can find the FTA tomorrow. I can take the check over now, if you want. Was today the last day to pay it?"

I shook my head. "Wasn't due yet. I just figured, since I had the money, might as well pay it. Before I get tempted to spend it…"

"You can wait until tomorrow." He wrapped both of his arms around my waist pulling me into a sort of backwards hug. I'd noticed that he'd been doing that a lot lately. I nestled back into Morelli's chest, swallowing a yawn.

"How was the game?" I asked after a few minutes. The TV had reverted to the news.

"Not great. We lost pretty badly. You didn't miss much," Morelli replied, going back to stroking my hair. "You like that?"

I nodded, willing myself not to close my eyes. It couldn't be late enough to go to bed, and if I fell asleep again, I'd either not be able to sleep that night or die of embarrassment. Four naps in one day would just be too much.

I focused my attention on the news. The weather man was telling the viewers that we'd be getting some very mild weather for the next couple of weeks.

"We'll be seeing a lot of sun during the day, but nights will be much cooler. October is here, but it looks like the warm weather isn't going anywhere," he was saying.

"What's your FTA?" Morelli questioned after the show transitioned to a commercial. "The one you were going to catch today?"

I bit my lip, trying to remember. I remembered the crime—it was the name that was eluding me. Just as I was about to give up, the name popped into my head.

"Robert Smith," I replied. "He's wanted for insurance fraud. Connie thought that I'd be able to find him in one of the nearby bars."

"It's still pretty early if you want to try and track him down tonight," Morelli offered. "I could go with you in case you need backup."

It was tempting, and I probably should have done something about Smith today, but I wanted to go after him that night about as much as I wanted to run into a beehive.

"Would you be free to do it tomorrow?" I asked, turning to face him.

He was smiling down at me, still playing with my hair. "Sure, Cupcake."

We sat in companionable silence for awhile, watching TV. The weather report changed to news reports, which then transitioned into popular TV shows. After a couple of hours of this, Morelli turned to me.

"Want to hit the sack?"

I nodded, and he shut off the TV. Reluctantly, I disengaged myself from his arms and the blanket. It had definitely gotten cooler. I'd already taken two showers that day, so I could skip that, but I still have to change into pajamas—or a nightgown—and brush my teeth. I headed to my bedroom to change and found Morelli brushing his teeth when I entered the bathroom.

I caught a whiff of his breath and knew he'd been using my toothpaste, but he'd also put the cap back on. Not that it mattered, since I'd be brushing my teeth with it in a few minutes.

Even so, I appreciated the thought. It meant Morelli was taking me seriously. Even in my insane rantings.

The thought made me feel very warm and happy. I began to wonder, for the umpteenth time, if living with Morelli in the long term would be such a bad thing. I wasn't ready for any kind of romantic relationship, but what we had right now was something I could handle. We could split the rent and other bills. He could help me out tracking down my FTAs.

Of course, he could probably do that even if we weren't living together.

My train of thought continued. I'd probably have to invest in a second bed, or upgrade to an apartment with two bedrooms, because I couldn't imagine us sleeping together in the long term with it being completely platonic. Morelli didn't complain about the couch, but I knew it wasn't very comfortable to sleep in. Maybe I should buy a second couch that pulled out into a bed…

Morelli must have noticed the dazed look on my face, because he gave me an inquisitive look. I saw that he'd finished the whole brushing teeth routine and was standing by the door. I realized then that I'd been blocking the door to the bathroom, and stepped aside.

"You must have been involved in some pretty heavy thinking," he commented.

I shrugged. "Just wondering if I should redecorate. I still have some of your fee left."

Probably, I should save that, but new furniture was pretty much a necessity at this point. As long as I continued to bring in FTAs, I really didn't need to worry about money.

Morelli took a moment to glance around the apartment. "You have the space." Pause. "Speaking of which, am I sleeping on the couch tonight or with you?"

It was my turn to pause. I'd really like the company, and odds were I'd have a nightmare and he'd end up in my bed anyway. But I didn't want Morelli to get the wrong idea.

I let out a sigh. "You can sleep with me, but we're _not_ having sex."

A smile formed on his face. "That's cool. I'll settle for making out."

I glared at him, but he pulled me into a one armed hug and I couldn't stay _too_ angry. "See you in a few, Cupcake."

The brown blanket was spread out on top of the bed when I entered the bedroom. I never really make my bed. What's the point, when you're just going to get back in? I usually try to smooth out the sheets and blankets, make sure they're facing the right way, but I never bother with tucking in the edges. My mom would be aghast if she knew, since she was always really finicky about that kind of thing. As a kid, I'd get into trouble if I left my bed unmade after I left for school. As an adult, I viewed bed making as one of those things you could choose to ignore once you lived on your own. Along with rules like not eating cake for breakfast, or not watching more than an hour of TV on weekdays.

Morelli was sitting up on a pillow, pressed against the headboard, reading Eddie's wife's book. I noticed that he'd started to take the left side of the bed as "his". I mostly slept in the middle when it was just me. I hadn't given a whole lot of thought to having less space, since the times when Morelli spent the night were times when I had nightmares. I felt a little uneasy about him being there when I was about to go to sleep.

_It's no big deal,_ I told myself. _Just get in, get under the covers, and go to bed. You probably won't even notice that he's there in a few minutes._

So I did that, trying to keep at least a half a foot of distance between our bodies. I'd opted for a flannel nightgown and was wearing underpants. I didn't usually wear them to bed if I was wearing a nightgown, and I guessed that their presence wouldn't be too much of an inhibitor if something _did_ happen, but it felt safe to have an extra layer of protection.

"Want me to turn off the light?" Morelli asked as I made my way under the covers.

I shrugged. "You can keep reading."

I usually slept on my back, but the light would bug me, so I rolled over on my side away from Morelli. I told myself that this was good. We'd both be able to get a good night's sleep and there'd be less temptation to do more than sleep if I was asleep before he turned out the light. I was just about drifting off when I heard him turn off the light and roll over near me. I inched my way towards the edge of the bed, hoping he'd get the hint.

Bam! I was on the floor, face down. The floor had carpeting, so it wasn't as bad as it would be if I'd fallen onto a wooden or tiled floor, but it still hurt.

Damn, damn, damn! I groaned, rolled over on my back, and put my hands towards my face to see if anything was broken. My nose felt sore, and my cheeks felt hot from the collision with the floor, but otherwise I was okay.

The light went on. Morelli was staring down at me. "You okay?"

"Mmph," I replied intelligibly, attempting to get up.

He moved over to my side of the bed and hoisted me back onto the bed. He gave me a once over, and I could have sworn Morelli was wondering how this had happened.

"Nothing's broken," I replied. "I think."

Morelli moved his hands over my face to check for any broken bones. Stopped around my nose and prodded it for awhile.

"This hurt?" he asked, still poking at it. I shook my head. "Can you breathe okay?" I took a deep breath and then nodded. No pain in my nose or my lungs. He ran a hand over my face again, moving extra slowly. I couldn't tell if he was checking for bruising or using my injured state as an excuse to touch me. Probably a little of both. "I think you'll live."

"I'll probably have massive bruising when I see my parents next," I complained half heartedly. "You should have told me you can be dangerous."

He gave a half laugh, half snort. "You know better than that. You're an accident prone disaster."

That was true. I had a knack for hurting myself, even before I'd become a bounty hunter.

"I guess I'll put some ice on it tomorrow if there's swelling," I decided, lying back down. This time, I lay on my back. Better not to risk more injuries.

He tucked an arm around my shoulders, and instinctively, I nestled against it. Well, why not? Cuddling wasn't the same as making out. We'd done plenty of cuddling that day.

"You'd still be hot, Cupcake," he whispered. "Even with a massive bruise."

I removed the pillow from under my head and smacked him on the head with it. He grabbed it, and I knew I'd have no chance of getting it back, so I stole the one from under his head.

Morelli hadn't expected this. His head made a nice _thump_ sound on the bed. "Ouch," he complained.

I lay my head down against the pillow. "Serves you right."

I could hear him setting down my pillow and putting his head against it. Oddly enough, his arm hadn't moved from under my shoulder this whole time.

"Probably," he agreed, turning to give me a kiss on the cheek and wrapping his other

arm around my shoulders. "Sweet dreams, Cupcake."

I felt my eyes close and pulled the blankets closer to me, wrapping them around my toes. "You too, Joe."

**Interaction between the fanfiction writer and "her" characters:**

Me: (to Stephanie) How was that? I know not a whole lot happened, but I thought it wasn't bad as a transitional chapter…

Stephanie: I liked it. Life isn't just one big event after another. There are times when I'm not going to be chasing after an FTA or being gunned down. Besides, I like the way you're developing my relationship with Morelli.

Morelli: Speaking of which, when is it my turn?

Me: (wearily, to Morelli) Your last chapter covered material throughout the end of this chapter. I know you're disappointed, but it didn't make sense to give you this chapter.

(Morelli pouts. Stephanie gives me a "what can you do?" look)

Morelli: Is it my turn again _soon_?

Stephanie: (mock soothingly) Joe, it will be your turn when I let the writer make it your turn.

Me: When _you_ let me?

Stephanie: Well, I have complete control over the story. Morelli might bug you, but it's ultimately my story and I'm the one who gives you inspiration. If I don't want Morelli to have his own chapter, I'll inspire you to write things from my perspective.

Morelli: (to me) She's like that all the time. Steph can be really bossy.

(I hide a grin)

Stephanie: I am _not_ bossy! I just want things done my way in this fanfic. There aren't enough Cupcake fics out there, and the last thing we need is to have you ruining things by making it all about your point of view!

Me: Steph, I think Morelli knows it's your story.

Stephanie: (frustrated) Well, he keeps complaining that he doesn't get a word in edgewise.

Morelli: I want more than that. I want Stephanie and me to have sex.

Me: That's definitely not gonna happen. A) I don't write sex scenes. B) In the books, you two didn't have sex until the fourth one. I know I'm moving things along pretty quickly, but do you really think that Stephanie would change that much in a couple of weeks?

Morelli: (eying Stephanie) Probably not. (pause) Are you going to make me move out at the end of this fanfic?

Me: I can't tell you that here!

Stephanie: (smugly) _I _know. I helped her write the ending.

Me: (glaring at Stephanie) Shh! I can always change it!

(Stephanie and me stare at each other for five minutes. Morelli hums annoyingly in the background.)

Morelli: Can I _please_ have the next chapter?

Me: Not the next one. Maybe the one after that.

Stephanie: _Maybe._

Me: (to Morelli, in a stage whisper) Almost definitely. Just don't tell her.

Stephanie: I heard that!

(Morelli and Stephanie continue to bicker for awhile. I quietly leave the stage and save the chapter before they notice I'm gone…)

**Please let me know what you thought of this chapter by leaving a review! Stephanie and Morelli would also like you know what you think…don't disappoint them! **


	10. Sunday Morning

I woke up early the next day with a strange desire to go to church.

I rarely attend Mass on Sundays. Sometimes, I wake up feeling like I should, and then the guilt sets in because I know that there are at least a hundred other things I'd rather do than attend church. Then, I feel more guilty for thinking like that, and I tell myself that God probably doesn't take church attendance into account and cares more about what kind of person you are inside.

I usually attend church on the really important days. Like Christmas and Easter. I think I went on Ash Wednesday last year. Although later, I found out that you actually_ don't_ have to go on Ash Wednesday, but you _do_ have to fast and not eat meat on that day. In Catholicism, fasting basically means "don't eat a whole lot and no snacking".

I managed to violate the fasting rule and the not eating meat rule on that day. But attending church when you don't have to cancels that out, right?

Anyway, it was pretty rare that I actually got the urge to go to Mass, so I figured I might as well do it when I was in the mood. Who knows, maybe I would get hit by a bus later that week, and God would take into account the fact that I had attended Mass on Sunday when deciding where I should spend eternity.

I was up before 7, so I figured I had time to shower. After washing my hair, I put on a pair of pants that weren't jeans and a shirt that wasn't too revealing. I added a sweater to the outfit and thought I looked pretty damned good.

Oops. Hadn't meant to let that slip out.

Morelli was still fast asleep, and I didn't think he'd appreciate being woken up. He'd probably act like I was crazy for wanting to go to church when it wasn't Christmas or Easter. His church attendance record was even worse than mine. I left a note, located my purse and keys, and headed out the door.

I made it about ten minutes before the 7:30 mass, and was surprised at how many people were there. I knew the Burg had a sizeable population of practicing Catholics (ones who attended church on a weekly, or almost weekly, basis), but I hadn't realized how many attended the 7:30AM mass. Most were my parents' age, or older. There were a few families with kids, and I felt bad for the kids who'd been forced to wake up early on a weekend because their parents wanted to get church out of the way early.

Then again, a lot of times it was kids who woke their parents up on weekends as soon as the sun was up. I was guilty of doing this, on occasion, to my parents. As was my sister.

One of the nice things about being Catholic is that our Sunday services are pretty short. At least, compared to some of the other churches. Mass usually lasts less than an hour, and if it goes over that, even the people who consider themselves to be good Catholics will get a little annoyed. I knew other Christians who would consider an hour service to be downright short. I liked this. Catholics got down to the point. No sense in wasting all of Sunday in church when you could get in, get your praying done, and be finished in time to get a good seat at a diner for breakfast.

Not going to church since Easter had kind of taken its toll on my memory. I'd forgotten when we were supposed to kneel, when we were supposed to stand, and when we were supposed to sit. When I'd been in fifth grade, there'd been a girl in my class, Hannah, whose father had transferred mid year. She'd been really nice, and somehow, we ended up talking about religion. Her parents were reformed Jewish, which was basically the equivalent of belonging to an official sect of people who chose not to be super religious. At least, that's how I understood it back then. Since my parents were regular church attendees and made me and Valerie go with them every week, I'd known the rules about bowing and kneeling better back then. Hannah and her parents had gone to synagogue fairly regularly. Not every week, but more than most of the kids in her Hebrew school class.

Hannah had said that Jews did a similar thing with standing and kneeling, except that Jews didn't kneel. They would stand up during various parts of the service. Unlike Catholics, though, the rabbi (which was basically their version of a priest) told people when to stand and when to sit down. I guess that if you went to synagogue often enough, you'd know when to stand and when to sit without being told, but I kind of liked that there was this assumption that people wouldn't always remember and had to be told what to do.

It would have made Mass a lot easier for me if the priest had said, "Please kneel" or "Please stand" at the right parts. I kept making mistakes, and at one point I almost fell over in my chair trying to transition from kneeling to sitting, when I was supposed to be standing the entire time. Maybe I'd send a letter to the Pope about it.

Or not. I didn't really want to get a letter back saying, "Dear Ms. Plum: Thank you for your interest in the liturgy, but if you were a good Catholic and attended Mass on a weekly basis, you would _not_ need to be told when to sit, stand, or kneel. Please keep this in mind and beware because your soul is in grave danger. Sincerely, The Pope."

Okay, it probably wouldn't sound like _that._ But it would be close.

When it was time to receive Communion, I wavered. I knew that I wasn't supposed to receive it because I shouldn't have skipped Mass at least thirty times since my last Mass. I probably should have gone to Confession, too, since I was pretty sure that lying, stealing Morelli's car, and a whole bunch of other things I had done would be frowned upon. On the other hand, if I didn't receive Communion, I'd basically be announcing to everyone that I was a sinner and headed straight for hell. Did I really need to advertise this?

I decided that going to Mass that day would cover me in case I got hit by a car. Receiving Communion, though, would be like lying, so that would probably cancel out my good deed of going to Mass. I probably wouldn't get hit by a car before I attended church next, but you never knew. I figured I'd be safe and not receive Communion. I mean, it wasn't like everyone there knew who I was. Maybe they'd think I wasn't Catholic and just there to see what it was like. I remained in my seat while everyone else in the church went to receive Communion. The people sitting in my row gave me some inquisitive looks as they climbed over me on their way to receive Communion, but no one said anything.

Probably, it would get back to me. No good deed goes unpunished and all of that. It was evidently a no win situation.

Maybe, if I got into the habit of attending Mass every month, I could receive Communion and not feel _too_ guilty about it. God probably understood these things.

I left the church feeling pretty good. Not just because I had gone to church, but because it had been nice being there. I didn't really talk to God much on a regular basis, even though I was pretty sure He existed. It felt kind of nice to talk to Him again, like seeing an old friend you'd forgotten about but gone to school with. Also, the music had been nice. The sermon (or was it now called a homily? I forgot) had been kind of long, but interesting enough. The hour really hadn't been a waste.

I found myself humming as I made my way back into the apartment. Morelli had just gotten out of bed and was dressed in an oversized blue bathrobe that covered his brown plaid pajamas. He sat at the kitchen table, reading a newspaper and drinking coffee.

He looked up and gave me a smile. "Hey, Cupcake. How was church?"

I peeled off my sweater. "Pretty good. I'm going to change now."

I exchanged my nice clothes for a pair of jeans and t-shirt. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail and added some makeup. Much better.

Morelli gave a low whistle when I returned. I rolled my eyes at him, but secretly, I was pleased.

"I was thinking we'd have pancakes for breakfast," Morelli told me, smiling oddly.

"Sure, sounds good." He kept smiling, like I was missing something. "What's the catch?"

"You're gonna make them."

I plopped down on the chair. "Joe, I can't cook."

He pulled me out of the seat. "This isn't really cooking," he replied, steering me over to the stove. "It's more like baking."

I tried to move back towards the table, but Morelli had me in a pretty tight grip. "I don't bake either."

Morelli sighed. "Steph, I've been doing virtually all of the cooking for the past two and a half weeks."

"And _I've_ been doing all of the cleaning up!" I reminded him, putting my hands on my hips. "I'd say you have the better job."

Morelli rolled his eyes. "Fine. This time, I'll clean up."

I let out a loud sigh. "If you put me in charge of cooking, I will definitely burn the meal. I might even burn this apartment! Or even the entire building. Do you want my death on your conscience?"

"I'll help you," Morelli promised. "C'mon, it will be fun." He pressed his hand against the small of my back and steered me to the stove.

He removed a box of pancake mix from the refrigerator, a carton of milk, and two eggs. He neatly placed them on the counter near the stove, which he turned on.

"What do you think we do first?" he asked me.

I gave him a bewildered look, as though Morelli had asked me what the nineteenth digit in pi was. "Mix them all together?"

"Close," he admitted, grinning widely. "The instructions say that we need a half a cup of mix, a cup of milk, and two eggs."

"Right, so we mix them all together," I repeated.

"Cupcake, we have to measure them out first."

Oh yeah.

He removed a measuring cup from one of the shelves and took the mixing bowl (or what I assumed to be a mixing bowl) next to it.

"You do the mix," he instructed, handing me the cup.

"Why not the milk?"

Morelli was patient. "Because, Cupcake, if you do the milk first, the cup will get sticky, and you won't have the right amount of mix when you measure that out."

That made sense. I took the box of pancake mix and carefully measured out half a cup. Some of the contents of the box spilled on the floor, but at least half a cup was in the bowl. This wasn't so bad. Hell, I was cooking! Kind of.

Morelli waited until I emptied the cup into the bowl before nodding towards the milk. That was a little easier. I didn't spill any of the milk.

Morelli took the bowl from me, cracked the eggs into it, and dumped the shells down the garbage disposal.

"Now, we can mix it together," he said, giving my shoulders a squeeze.

I located a spoon in one of the drawers and began spinning it around the bowl. "How long?"

"Until there aren't any lumps," he replied.

I followed the instructions, and in about a minute, he stopped me as he peered at the contents of the bowl.

"That looks good. Now, what do you think we do next?"

Ordinarily, I'd be getting annoyed at Morelli's method of teaching by now. But somehow, this was borderline fun, and I figured that if I paid attention, I'd probably remember how to do this on my own. I wouldn't have to waste five dollars or so at a diner whenever I got in the mood for pancakes.

"I'm guessing that we scoop some of it onto that pan, with this spoon."

"Kind of." Morelli laughed. "I skipped over a step. I should have told you to turn the stove on before you started, but I'd already done that." He glanced at me. "You should turn the stove on at least five minutes before you're going to start cooking them, so that the pan gets nice and hot. Otherwise, you'll end up waiting ten minutes for the first one to cook, and probably burn it."

"I'll probably do that anyway," I replied. "How do I know when it's done?"

"That's easy. Bubbles will appear on the pancake, and you'll flip it over. When you hear a sizzling sound after you flip it, you'll know it's finished."

That didn't sound too hard. I held the bowl near the stove and tentatively scooped out a portion of the substance onto the pan. I waited for a few minutes, and then bubbles began to form. Almost immediately, I grabbed the spatula and flipped it over.

Well, kind of. I got half of it flipped over. The other half just kind of oozed out.

"Damn it," I swore.

Morelli's hand began to rub small circles along my shoulders. I took a deep breath. Ruining a pancake was not a big deal in the grand scheme of things. It was just frustrating because I knew my cooking/baking skills were next to nonexistent. Couldn't we just leave it at that?

"It's okay. You were just a little…enthusiastic. Try flipping it over again."

I obeyed, and this time the entire pancake flipped on its side on the pan. I couldn't help it—I grinned.

"I did it!" I shouted.

"Almost," Morelli cautioned. "You still have to flip it the second time. And put it on the plate."

I'd forgotten that part.

I waited for the sizzling sound, and then transferred the pancake over to the plate. It was misshapen, but golden brown on both sides. I recognized this to mean well done but not overdone. Morelli broke off a piece and chewed.

"Pretty good for your first one."

I took a piece and chewed on it. A little burnt, but otherwise pretty good. My first pancake! I was pretty proud.

Morelli made me make the rest of the pancakes from the mix, explaining that I needed the practice. We ate the pancakes as I made them, breaking them into two pieces each time. They tasted a little better each time, and by the time I was out of the mix, I felt like I had made the perfect pancake.

Too bad they were all gone. I sort of wished I'd thought to take a picture of the first one. It would have sounded silly to say this out loud, but pancakes were the first actual meal I'd made (or made with assistance) since I'd moved out. Most of my meals came out of boxes or microwaves. Even making pasta—which mostly consisted of boiling water—was something I messed up at least half of the time.

Morelli, sensing my excitement, squeezed my shoulders. "Proud of you, Steph."

"I'll clean up," I offered, feeling generous.

Morelli laughed. "I should make you cook more often."

I almost said I wouldn't mind, but didn't. Why mess with a good thing?

As I did the dishes, Morelli headed to the bathroom to exchange his robe and pajamas for a shirt and jeans. When he returned, I'd just finished drying everything and was getting them ready to put away.

"Hey, Steph?"

"Yeah?" I didn't turn around to face him.

"How was the weather earlier?"

I considered. "Cool, but not freezing. Why?"

"You up for a walk?"

That only caught me off guard for a minute. "Yeah, okay." Then I remembered that my sweatshirts were with my dirty laundry. At Morelli's apartment. My jacket was fine for church, but it was too nice and not warm enough to take a long walk in. Same with my sweater. "Oh, wait. My stuff is dirty!"

"You can wear one of my sweatshirts," he replied as he returned to the kitchen. He was wearing blue jeans and a yellow sweatshirt over a blue t-shirt. "Hang on a sec…"

Morelli disappeared and returned minutes later with a brown sweatshirt. "Try this. It might be kind of big, but it's pretty warm."

I pulled it over my head. It covered my hips and reached halfway between my wrists and the ends of my fingers. It was really loose in the waist—I could easily gain thirty pounds and it wouldn't show. It was also really soft and had a hood attached. It smelled like Morelli when I put it on.

"It fits."

Morelli wrapped an arm over my shoulders protectively. "You look hot in my clothes."

I made a face and tried to muss up his hair, but Morelli used that as an opportunity to grab me under the arms and tickle me. Okay, so the sweatshirt mostly prevented it. Still, I was fighting off giggles and yelling at him to stop. Morelli obliged, but lifted me up so he was carrying me on his back. _This_ I didn't mind so much. I lay my head against his neck, then had a better idea. Pretending to be shifting my position, I transferred my hands from his shoulders to tickle him under his arms, but not before seriously messing up his hair. It was his turn to yell with laughter, and before I knew it, I found myself in a headlock being mercilessly tickled under the arms. I guess it had been possible to be ticklish under the sweatshirt—he just hadn't been trying very hard earlier. After a minute or so, when I really thought Morelli was going to do some serious injury, he let me go so I could catch my breath.

"That's…not…fair…" I half huffed, half panted as I grabbed my side. "This…is…war…"

Morelli snickered and confidently put his hands in his jeans pockets. "I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that, sweetheart, because there's no way you could win a tickle match against me."

He was probably right. I glared at him for a minute, but it slowly turned into a smile.

"Truce?" he asked.

"Truce," I agreed, still out of breath.

I headed to the bathroom before I had an accident, and Morelli was standing by the door when I got back. I grabbed a ten dollar bill from my room, just in case the walk took us in the direction of a Dunkin Donuts. I found my keys and let us out of the apartment, locking the door behind us.


	11. Sunday Afternoon

A/N: Since book two starts in "late October", I'm interpreting this to mean later than October 25th. I haven't determined when this fic will finish, but it will definitely be at least a few days before book two was "scheduled" to start.

Once I was outside, I noticed that weather had changed from cold to pretty cold. That is, I was happy to be wearing Morelli's sweatshirt, but didn't think I would have wanted to wear a heavy jacket. The people on the weather channel had been saying that we'd get some warm weather, as in t-shirts and shorts, later this month, but it was only the first week in October right now.

"Are we walking anywhere in particular, or just walking?" I asked Morelli, putting my hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt to make sure the money was still there.

It was, safe and snug. If we encountered any burglars wanting my money, they'd have to put up a pretty hard fight for it.

He put an arm around my waist. I was beginning to recognize this as a typical act/gesture on his part. I still wasn't entirely sure what it meant, but I assumed that it was a mix of protection and wanting to keep me nearby in a strictly physical sense. Sort of like when you walk your dog on a leash and don't want to give him too much room to explore.

I frowned to myself. Not a good analogy. I wasn't his dog. I didn't belong to Morelli in any sense. We weren't even together.

I considered releasing myself from his grip, but that would probably confuse him. If I voiced my thoughts, he'd voice the same opinion I'd just had. An arm around the shoulder, or the waist, didn't necessarily indicate ownership. If anything, it indicated comfort at being around the other person. The fact that he'd done this on several occasions meant that there might be some sexual tension between us, but we were basically getting to be really good friends.

Yeah, right. Like I believed that even for a second.

The second part, of course, not the first. The arm was around my waist as a means of protection and of being close to me. I'd have objected if he put his hand on my butt, but this gesture had the pretense of being innocent in nature.

Like he was saying, "I know we're not _together_, but I still want to me near you. And since we're good friends, that's okay."

Pretty sneaky of Morelli, actually.

He turned and stared at me, and I wondered if I'd said any of this out loud. I also realized that we'd stopped walking, and his hand was no longer around my waist.

"What?" I asked.

Morelli gave me a patient smile. "I asked if there was anywhere you wanted to go. You kind of zoned out."

Oops.

"I was just thinking," I replied evasively.

He raised his eyebrows at me. "Care to share?"

Not on his life.

I thought hard for about three seconds. "Strategies for beating you the next time we have a tickle fight. I think I can win next time."

"Oh, really?" He leaned into me. "I can think of some other games that allow for two winners…"

My face grew hot. "I was just at church!"

Morelli frowned. "Does this mean you're going to be a good Catholic girl from now on? Hmm, that could be kinda sexy…"

I rolled my eyes at him. "I never even went to Catholic school! And no, I'm not going to go to Mass every Sunday from now on. I just think—" I nodded towards the sky—"Not on Sunday."

"I didn't think you _ever_ thought about it." Morelli sounded incredulous.

I began walking again, faster this time. "Joe, I am a woman. I have needs."

"Uh huh." Morelli easily caught up with me. "See, from where I'm standing, you get angry whenever I even mention something like making out. So I can't really see you as really wanting it."

"First of all, I don't get angry whenever you start talking in innuendos!" I snapped, irritated that I'd proven his point. "Second of all, I was married for almost a year, and the first time I had sex—" Here my face turned red. "—Was with you. It didn't exactly make me hate the whole concept."

Morelli smiled again. "Okay, so why the hesitation?"

"Well, for one thing, we're in public…"

Technically. There was no one actually around, but it wasn't like we were at my apartment.

"Cupcake."

"And for another thing, I don't do casual sex." Rushing on before Morelli could form his own conclusions, I added, "Besides, my marriage to Dickie pretty much made me give up on men."

Morelli pulled me into a hug. "Cupcake, there's something wrong with a guy who uses the nickname 'Dickie'. 'Sides, he was just one rotten apple. The rest of us are fairly decent."

I rolled my eyes and withdrew myself from the hug. Reluctantly. "You sound like my mother."

"She has a point, in this case."

I didn't think so, but I wanted to end the conversation, so I compromised and replied, "Maybe."

We walked in silence for awhile, just listening to the other person's breathing and footsteps. My legs, which had not fully recovered from the previous day's massive exercise session, began to complain. I made a valiant attempt at ignoring them, but they would not be silenced. My body wasn't built for exercise. My genes gave me good metabolism, which meant I could mostly eat what I wanted and not look huge.

On the other hand, I wasn't able to pose on the cover of a magazine. In exchange for my good genes, my body seemed to be extremely against any form of physical exertion. Whenever I made myself exercise, my body told me, "Look, Steph, your genes made you have good metabolism and a nice body. If you keep fighting nature, we may slow down enough so that you'll gain five pounds whenever you run."

With logic like that, you really can't argue. My body tends to know what it's talking about.

We did end up passing a Dunkin Donuts, but I swear that I didn't even realize we were walking in that direction until I saw the cheerful building. I stopped, and Morelli turned to me expectantly, arm resuming its position around my waist.

"You want to go inside."

I nodded like a half starved animal. Whatever energy I'd gotten from the pancakes was gone, no doubt making its way through the lower part of my body and almost ready to be disposed of. My body was telling me, very loudly, that donuts were nutritious and that I needed their nutrients.

Morelli put his hands in his pockets, undoubtedly looking for money. He came up with a dollar bill and a few pennies. Enough for maybe one donut, and we'd have to split it. Time to reveal my secret.

"I think I have some money with me…" I fumbled around in my jeans, knowing they were empty, and then discreetly checked the pockets of his sweatshirt. "Here we go! A ten!"

"I don't remember having money in my sweatshirt," Morelli mused, frowning. "I almost never put money there."

"Well, I guess this is our lucky day!" I replied brightly.

"Uh huh." A grin formed as the mental light bulb went on in his mind. "You put it there in case we passed a place that sold food."

I frowned, pretending to be concentrating. "You know, I _might_ have, but I'm feeling so hungry that I don't think I could say for sure. Maybe after a few donuts…"

A snort emitted from Morelli's mouth. "C'mon, Cupcake."

He wrapped an arm around my shoulder and we headed into the store.

When it was our turn, Morelli placed our order. "Boston crèmes still your favorite?" he asked me. I nodded.

"Two Boston crèmes, two jelly donuts, and four chocolate donuts," he told the clerk. "And two large coffees."

"That'll be $6.79," the clerk told us.

For all of that? Wow, going to the bakery yesterday had been a complete rip off.

I handed over my ten, pocketed the three dollars in change, and put the twenty-one cents in the tip jar.

What can I say? I like to be generous. Morelli added his change to the jar, and handed me his dollar bill.

"Let's split it," he told me.

"Thanks."

It wasn't exactly even, but Morelli _had_ been buying most of my groceries for the past three weeks. I could fork over a few dollars for donuts and coffee.

I pocketed the bill, and Morelli took the bag from the clerk.

"You want to eat here, or on the way back?" he asked me.

It was tempting to stay there and rest my complaining legs, but we'd have to get back sooner or later. If we waited, I'd have donuts as an incentive.

"Let's head back, but have the coffee on the way," I replied.

Can't let good coffee get cold.

Morelli nodded and handed me my cup. Once we were headed back, he paused to stare at me.

"What?"

Did I have coffee stuck on my face? I licked my lips, but didn't taste anything.

"You're limping."

"My body's rebelling from yesterday's workout." I took a sip of coffee.

"Does it hurt much?"

"Not really."

Only when I walked faster than a snail's pace.

Morelli wasn't convinced. "Sure you can make it back? I could carry you."

That was the last thing I wanted. I picked up the pace and hid a grimace.

"I'm fine. It's not like we're that far from my building."

I could tell that Morelli wasn't convinced, but he didn't say much. Just put an arm around my shoulder, but I was pretty sure that, in this instance, it was in case I fell.

I didn't fall, but by the time we'd arrived at my apartment, I felt like doing nothing except sitting on the couch for the rest of the day, with the possible exception of getting up every few hours for a bathroom break. I could forget about my last skip, at least until that night. Probably, it made more sense to check the bars at night, anyway. My check to my landlord would also have to wait another day.

I removed my shoes as soon as I got into my apartment, which helped considerably. I made my way over to the couch and plopped down on it, wondering if I'd sprained something.

Morelli must have been thinking along the same lines, because he wanted me to take my socks and roll my pants up so he could examine my feet. He wasn't a doctor, but I guessed that it couldn't hurt to have another person take a look at my feet.

"Are they clean?" he asked me, before sitting down.

I rolled my eyes at Morelli. "I took a shower this morning."

"Just checking."

He sat down, pulled my bare feet into his lap, and began prodding them and lifting them to see if my ankle was swollen. He lifted up the toes and occasionally asked if anything hurt, and I truthfully said no.

"You have cute feet," Morelli commented. "Except for that scrawny one on the end. It won't stay straight." He kept trying to urge the toe into an upright position, but it only stayed upright until Morelli took his fingers off of it, but he kept playing with it. "Damn stubborn thing."

Both of my bottom toes were sort of curved, instead of straight. Neither of my parents' toes looked this way, but my sister's did, and my Grandma Mazur claimed that her husband's toes looked like ours.

"I'm pretty sure it's genetic," I replied, watching him struggle to make the toe straighten out.

"Does this hurt?" he asked, now moving his fingers to my other toes. They were all perfectly straight.

"I don't think so…" I watched as he lifted up my big toe, brushing some gunk from my sock off it, no doubt comparing its size to the scrawny one. "What's the verdict?"

"You'll probably survive."

He continued to prod and examine my feet for a few minutes after it was clear that they were fine, and then the prodding turned into a gentle massage. I leaned back against the cushions, hoping this would continue for a little.

"Feel good?" he asked me, moving his right hand towards my ankle, which I felt rather than saw since my eyes were closed. I nodded.

It had been my _legs_ that had hurt, more than my feet, but this was nice. Unfamiliar, since I'd never had my feet massaged before, but very relaxing.

If I wasn't careful, I'd fall asleep. Just like I'd done the night before. I probably shouldn't make a habit out of that.

At least, there was no blanket this time to make falling asleep easier. Just the sweatshirt I had on, which was becoming even nicer and toastier now that I was inside and my apartment was relatively warm. I could see myself falling asleep in that.

_Stay awake, Steph,_ I ordered myself.

I focused my attention on Morelli's movements. They were repetitive and predictable, hardly ever diverging from the pattern. When I lifted my head up from the cushions, I could see that his face was intent—his eyebrows kind of knitted together in concentration. When he saw me looking at him, he smiled without interrupting the massage pattern.

I found myself thinking that Morelli wasn't so bad. I might say yes if he asked me out on a date. I wouldn't do casual sex with him, or with anyone, but I could do worse than spend a romantic evening with him. He still wasn't exactly boyfriend material…too wild, even after two years in the army and ten years as a cop. Not someone I'd introduce to my parents, assuming I ever wanted to start dating again.

I made myself stop thinking these things before they started going into dangerous territory. What was next, fantasizing about Morelli? I already knew that he wasn't serious about me. He wanted friendship, and sex, and that was it. I removed my feet from his lap, even though I knew the massage could have continued for longer.

"Thanks," I said, straightening up. "That really helped."

Morelli seemed a little taken aback, but he recovered quickly. Put on his cop face.

"No problem," he replied, a little too fast. "Should we get to those donuts?"

I nodded, and we headed into the kitchen. After I'd eaten one of the Boston crèmes, I gathered my courage to ask another question that had been on my mind for the last few weeks.

**Interaction with the characters…**

Morelli: (open mouthed) You can't end it there!

Stephanie: (smugly) Yes, she can!

Morelli: But what's the question?

Me: (eying Stephanie) Hmm…should I tell him?

Stephanie: Don't tell him!

Me: (grinning) Okay, I won't.

Morelli: Fine. I don't want to know.

Stephanie: Yeah, you do. (to me) He does.

Me: I know.

(Stephanie and I grin and high five.)

Morelli: Is she going to ask me out on a date?

Stephanie: (annoyed) What, you think I'm suicidal?

Me: Steph!

Stephanie: Well, I'm not! Humph!

Me: Is "humph" a word?

Stephanie: Microsoft Word says it is.

Morelli: (rolling his eyes) Then it must be. (long pause) I can't stand it! Give me a hint, at least!

Me: (to Stephanie) Should I give him a hint?

Stephanie: (equally long pause) Oh, all right. (stands up) No, let me!

(I gesture to Stephanie that the floor is hers.)

Stephanie: It has to do with something that took place in the first book.

Me: (rolling eyes) Oh, come on, Stephanie! That's the most general hint in the world. You could be a _little_ more specific.

Stephanie: Fine. It has to do with something that happened in the last chapter of the first book.

Morelli: (thinking) The one when I bring over the pizza?

Stephanie: Uh huh. (to me) If you tell him anything more, I swear that I won't talk to you for an entire week.

(I make the gesture of zipping my mouth shut and throwing away the key.)

Morelli: Does it have to do with Choo Choo?

Stephanie: (to me) Don't you dare tell him!

(I stay silent and press save.)

**Please leave feedback! **


	12. Mom's Call

A/N: The episode of Lost that Morelli and Stephanie were watching isn't really one specific episode. However, in terms of where it falls in the series, it would probably take place around the beginning of season four. For those who watch Lost, assume that the episode takes place after Juliet joins Jack's group, but before "Eggtown", which takes place about halfway through the season. If you've never seen Lost, you might not pick up on EVERY reference in this chapter, but you're no worse off than Stephanie in this chapter, since she's never seen it before now.

I just started to speak when my phone rang.

"Shit." I stood up. "I better get this."

Morelli looked amused as I reached for the phone.

"Hello?"

"Stephanie, it's your mother," came my mom's voice. "I'm making baked chicken and corn for dinner tonight. Will you be over?"

"Um…"

"There's pineapple upside down cake for dessert," she added, and I could hear the smile in her voice.

My mom knew me well enough to recognize that I'd never pass up on a piece (or two) of pineapple upside down cake.

"Sure, I'll be there."

"I love baked chicken," came Morelli's voice. I waved my hand around wildly in an attempt to silence him.

"Stephanie, do you have a man over? Do I know him?" my mom prodded. "I could set an extra place for him…"

"No, it's just me," I answered, sending Morelli a death stare. "I was watching TV."

"Ohh, that's too bad." My mom sounded disappointed. "Dinner's at six."

"I'll see you then," I promised.

"Don't be late!" my mom added, before hanging up.

I put the phone down and practically growled at Morelli. "What the hell was that about?"

Morelli looked sheepish, which meant he probably wasn't. Just doing a good job of looking like he was.

"I was hoping for a second cooked meal today," he replied, taking me into his arms. "If your mom's cooking is like any other housewife's in the Burg, it's sure to be good."

"She's a good cook," I admitted. "But if you came over, she'd think you were my boyfriend."

Morelli looked a little pained at that statement. "She doesn't know we're living together?"

My eyebrows shot upwards. "_No one_ knows we're living together because we're not! We're not dating, and you're only going to be here for a few more weeks. Unless you want to announce that we're engaged in front of both of our families, because that is what _will_ happen if you have a meal at my parents' house. That is, if my dad doesn't kill you first."

Morelli was silent for a few minutes, no doubt digesting what I'd just said and realizing it made some sense.

"Why would your father kill me?"

"Besides the whole Choo Choo incident—" Technically, this was a lie, since my mother had decided not to tell my father about that, but as far as I was concerned, Morelli didn't need to know this. "—he didn't look too kindly about you taking my virginity or writing about it throughout the Burg."

Another white lie. My mom found this out, but she'd kept it from my father on the grounds that my father would have murdered Morelli. He'd gotten off really easy with just a broken leg. My father would have taken the whole car to his head, multiple times. There wouldn't have been enough of Morelli left to figure out who the dead body was.

Not unless forensics or the police got involved.

My parents were generally very honest with each other, but I guess my mother felt that there were some things best left unsaid. Buried six feet deep, so to speak.

"I'd think your dad would be happy that you had a boyfriend," Morelli countered, opening my refrigerator and removing a carton of milk.

"We're not dating."

"Well, no, but would it hurt for him to think that we were?" He started to open the carton, but I took it from him.

"You better not drink that straight from the container. I have clean glasses less two feet from your head." I pointed for good measure.

Morelli rolled his eyes, but placed the milk on the table and removed two glasses. He poured the milk and handed one glass to me. I took it, even though I wasn't especially thirsty.

"If my parents thought we were dating, your parents would find out. They'd totally freak out and we'd be dragged to the church before we knew what hit us. Hell, Joe, your mom makes my mom look liberal."

Morelli took a long swig of milk. "Guess you're right."

Knowing I'd won the argument, I felt inclined to compromise.

"My mom always sends me home with leftovers. I'll eat quickly and be home before eight. Maybe before 7:30."

I doubted the last part. If I was intent on leaving early, my parents would make me stay later. They always knew. I was pretty sure it was a skill all parents had.

Well, all moms. My dad didn't care as much about how late I stayed, but he also didn't exactly argue with my mom when she tried to make me stay later. His silence might as well be agreement.

Morelli took his milk into my living room, and I followed him, taking a few gulps of mine.

"Don't worry about it, Cupcake. Just save me some of that cake."

I gave him my best "haughty" look. "We'll see."

"Uh huh." He took a seat on the couch and patted the spot next to him. "Let's see if there's anything good on TV."

I plopped down next to him, and his arm wrapped itself around my shoulders within seconds, as though it had a life of its own. My body, against my better judgment, snuggled against his side. As soon as I realized what I was doing, I tried to move a few inches away from Morelli, but he had me in a pretty tight grip. Well, fine. If that's what he wanted. Might as well make myself comfortable.

I propped up my feet on the table. I never let Morelli do this, but hey, it was my apartment and my rules for him didn't apply to me. Besides, I didn't have shoes on.

Then again, I also didn't have socks on, and my feet might be pretty smelly by now. I transferred them from the table to the couch. Morelli looked at me the way a parent might look at a teenager they'd lived with for the past thirteen or fourteen years, but still couldn't figure out.

Morelli had the remote, and began to channel surf, stopping every few seconds to see if what was on looked any good. He stopped when he found an unfamiliar show I'd never seen (not that this was anything new). A few people were standing on a beach and two of the males were fighting. A female came into the picture and began yelling at the men to stop fighting. One of them shut up immediately, but the other one began muttering sarcastic comments. He continued to speak, and I realized he was referring to other people in the background, but he wasn't using any names I'd ever heard of. He was definitely talking in English, so I figured he must have been either speaking in code (which made no sense) or maybe using code names (which made a little more sense). Or was just crazy (which made the most sense).

Except the people in the background didn't seem to think he was crazy. They looked annoyed, and then a heavyset man with long brown hair came into the picture, and started telling the guy off. The guy responded by throwing a few insults, and a few other weird names, in the direction of the heavyset guy.

"I'm lost," I complained, after this had gone on for a few minutes. I'd figured out that the guy who used the weird names was called "Sawyer" (or "James", but mostly "Sawyer"), the female with the curly brown hair was called "Kate", and the other man who'd initially been fighting with him was called "Jack". I had no idea what they were talking about, since they kept referring to these other people. A blonde woman began speaking, but no one except Jack seemed to listen to her.

Morelli turned to look at me. "You've seen this before?"

I gave him my best "you're an idiot" look. "I just said I'm lost."

"Yeah, that's the name of the show. Lost."

Well. Okay, then.

"No wonder I don't get it."

Morelli began to run his fingers through my hair. "No one gets it. I haven't seen all of the episodes, but even people who watch every one ten times can't figure it out."

"Then why bother?"

Morelli shrugged. "It's addictive."

I raised my eyebrows and turned to him. "That doesn't make any sense."

The girl who I'd identified as Kate was still yelling, but I figured that based on Morelli's assessment of the show, I wasn't missing much by not paying complete attention.

"It's like this," Morelli explained. "These people were all in a plane crash, and the plane landed on this island. Except, some of the people knew each other beforehand, or knew people the other people had known. Even though, they were virtually all strangers, except the handful of siblings traveling together. Those people mostly died out in the first season."

"Okay…"

"They can't leave the island, so they're just trying to survive." I nodded. "Well, now they found out that there were other people on the island who were there before them."

"Great. So those people can help them get back to civilization."

"Wrong," Morelli countered. "Those people _choose_ to live on the island, but they can pretty much come and go as they please. Or at least, the ones who are high up."

"But they can still take the people from the plane crash with them on their next trip."

"They _can_, but they don't want to."

"Why not?"

Morelli shrugged. "It's not really clear. That's one of the ways the show doesn't make sense."

I pondered this for a few minutes. "Is the loud guy with the long hair insane?"

Morelli turned to give me a grin. "Naw, that's just Sawyer. He's a real smartass. He doesn't make sense to you because he gives everyone these bizarre nicknames. A lot of the nicknames refer to the same people, but then he'll decide that the same person needs a new nickname."

We continued to watch for awhile, and while the show didn't make any more sense as it progressed, it was pretty fascinating. I could see why people watched it.

"You remind me of Kate," Morelli commented at one point. "The one with the crazy hair."

I snorted. "Because of my hair?"

Morelli stroked my hair. "That, and because she's so damn loud. She's always bossing everyone else around. Like you."

"She barely said two sentences so far!" I protested.

"Yeah, but she tells people what she thinks. She's assertive. Does what she wants. If you watch it more, you'll see. She doesn't take shit from anyone, which drives them crazy."

Pause.

"And you think I'm the same way?"

Morelli gave me an incredulous look. "Cupcake, you'd have to be an idiot not to see that. Kate and you are both insane, and you're both tough cookies."

"I'm guessing that Kate wouldn't like to be referred to as a tough cookie," I said dryly.

The "insane" part was partially true, and the "tough cookie" part was a stretch, but I'd have to handle a lot more skips in order to really consider myself one. I also wasn't sure if that was meant as a compliment.

"Depends who called her one. If it was Sawyer, she'd probably act like she hated it, but really liked it. If it was Jack, she'd think it was a compliment."

"Because she likes Jack, but can't stand Sawyer?" I guessed.

"Close. They're both her romantic love interests, and she's slept with one, but I'm not saying who." Morelli gave me his cooked smile.

"Well, fine. I don't care," I replied, tossing my head back.

"Aren't you gonna ask me who you think I am on this show?"

I snorted. "Given that I've seen all of ten minutes…"

"Guess."

I watched for a little and considered. Definitely not the heavyset guy. He seemed nice enough, but kind of dopey. An Asian man came into the scene for a few minutes, with someone I figured was his wife, but he didn't say much. I ruled him out as being a background character. That only left Jack and Sawyer, assuming someone else didn't come into play.

"You're badass like Sawyer," I commented. "But you're pretty rigid on the rules, which doesn't seem to be like him at all. So, I'd say you're Jack."

Morelli groaned. "Jack's even worse than Hurley. He becomes a total idiot later in the series. He gets addicted to drugs and tries to kill everyone!"

"And I'd know that…how?" I demanded.

"Right. You wouldn't," Morelli conceded.

I watched for a few more minutes. Regardless of what Jack's character became later, he seemed pretty stable now. Unlike Sawyer, who was a bombshell. Not that Morelli was the definition of Mr. Stability. He'd been more like Sawyer, or what I'd seen of Sawyer, when he was eighteen. By now, he'd turned into Jack.

And, apparently, I was Kate. I wondered which one Kate would end up with in the end. If Morelli had gotten that far.

Well, hell, might as well ask. Wasn't like I was going to watch the rest of the series.

"So, who does Kate pick?"

"Neither. Both. The ending's pretty fucked up." Morelli sighed. "One of them dies, allegedly saving the island, but it's clear when he dies that Kate wants to be with him. Later, everyone meets up in the afterlife, and the guy who died is the guy who Kate goes with. Except, it's not really clear if that's what actually happened, because there's reason to think that the guy who died is the one who's telling his opinion of the afterlife. So, what made him happy in heaven might not be what Kate ended up choosing. Because, who knows what happened between her and the one who didn't die in the years that they're both alive?" Morelli raised his eyebrows. "It's kind of unclear, which was the whole point. Except it wasn't. The ending makes it clear who Kate ends up with, but if you look at what actually happened and who's telling the story, it can sort of go either way. We're supposed to think that it sucks for Kate."

I hid a laugh. "You're really into this show."

He gave my shoulders a squeeze. "That's just between us. I think some of the other cops in vice have seen it, but I don't want to go around advertising that fact. Okay?"

In other words, if I told anyone, he'd never let me forget it.

Which reminded me of what I'd wanted to ask Morelli earlier.

"Fine."

We watched in silence as the credits came onto the screen, accompanied by some really creepy music.

"Hey, Joe? Mind if I ask you a question?"

**Interaction between myself and the characters…because Morelli won't shut up after I finished this chapter…**

Morelli: (glares at me)

Me: (avoids his gaze)

Stephanie: (falls on the floor laughing) We should probably stop after this.

Me: (reluctantly) I agree.

Stephanie: It's fun, though.

Me: Oh yes. (evil grin) Very fun.

Morelli: Damn it, Stephanie, I want to know what's on your mind! You're killing me with the suspense here. And you've got her (nods at me) on it, too!

Stephanie: Mmm hmm…?

Me: She's doing it so she can have control of the story for longer. It's working.

Lula: (popping out of thin air) Hell yeah, you better believe she has control of the story, girl!

(Lula disappears as suddenly as she appeared)

(odd silence)

Stephanie: (looking around) Did you do that on purpose?

Me: I was going to ask you the same thing…

Morelli: (freaked out) Wasn't me…

Me: (to Stephanie) I think there are other characters determined to make sure you get your way.

Stephanie: It would seem so. (eyes the room suspiciously) Can't say I like it. You better hurry up and save this, before we get any more visitors!

Me: Yeah, okay. Any last words?

Stephanie and Morelli: LEAVE US FEEDBACK!

Lula's disembodied voice: Or there will be hell to pay!

(all run off screaming)

(I tiptoe back onstage, discreetly hand Lula a wad of bills, and save the chapter.)


	13. Backstory

Morelli turned his gaze towards me. By the tone of my voice, he must have realized that the topic had changed from Lost to something more serious.

And it _was_ serious. Not as serious as the whole shower conversation had been, but this had been on my mind since he'd appeared with the pizza. I'd wanted to ignore it, but you know how when you tell yourself not to think about something, your mind just works overtime thinking about that exact thing? It was a little like that here.

Better to just find out the answer and clear the air.

At least my voice didn't sound shaky.

I could probably handle the answer, whatever it was. I'd want more details if the answer was "yes", like a time frame, or what exactly I could expect. I hoped Morelli would give me that.

Morelli used the remote to shut off the TV, and then turned to face me. Up until now, I'd been leaning in close to him, and he'd had an arm around my back. When we'd been talking about Lost, the second arm sometimes stroked the top of my head, and other times moved around as though to demonstrate a point. At the moment, the initial arm was wrapped around my shoulders, and the second was rested against the end of the couch.

"What's on your mind, Cupcake?"

I straightened up, moving a few inches away from Morelli. He sort of raised his eyebrows at this, but didn't pull me back into his arms. Which, I guess, I sort of appreciated.

"Remember when you came into my apartment with the pizza a few weeks ago and asked if I was scared of you?" I began, awkwardly.

Morelli gave me a smile that I could only define as "tentative". "You said you were, and wouldn't even unlock the door completely. Not until I told you that I wouldn't get even with you about turning me in on that day."

"Yeah, about that..."

There was an uncomfortable silence, and I began to examine my—well, _his_—sweatshirt. I had a feeling that Morelli would probably wait until I said something, unless I took more than ten minutes. Then, he'd probably speak up, but I wondered if he'd tell me the truth. If he knew I'd been thinking about his promise/threat, he might just say he didn't mean it to get me off his back. He might still have ideas about revenge, which he'd enact at a later date, when I was completely unprepared.

On the other hand, his idea of "revenge" might be mild compared to the mental images my brain had conjured up in the past few weeks.

Finally, I spoke up. "Can I have a time frame on that?"

Morelli laughed. "I wasn't serious, Cupcake. Maybe at the time, but not anymore." He put an arm around my shoulders. "Don't you think I know that you've been through enough?"

Warm, fuzzy feelings spread through me, and I felt myself smiling.

"Just wanted to be sure," I whispered. Then, because my brain and my mouth weren't fully connected, I added, "Why'd you say it?"

Morelli was silent for a few minutes before kissing the top of my head. I nuzzled against his shoulders, thinking that it wouldn't _really_ matter if he couldn't answer that, and then telling myself that yeah, it kind of did.

He sighed. "I keep forgetting that you didn't grow up with brothers."

I raised an eyebrow. "What's that got to do with it?"

"Maybe it's a guy thing…maybe it was just a Morelli thing. When my dad got angry and made threats, you could usually count on them being promises. But when my brothers and I threatened each other, we mostly knew that we were talking out of our asses. It was a way of saving face." He was silent for a few minutes, now stroking my hair. "Didn't you and Valerie ever do that? Like if she borrowed your sweater or something, you'd say, 'Well, I forgive you this time, but if you ever do it again, I'll flush all of your makeup down the toilet'? Even though you both knew you wouldn't do that?"

Valerie, being the older one, never borrowed my clothes. I'd never _wanted_ to borrow hers, because our tastes, even as kids, were vastly different.

I had used her makeup, on occasion, but I don't think she ever noticed.

We'd gotten along okay as siblings. Not great, not horribly. No heart to heart talks over crushes, but then again, no major bullying.

Tattling, on the other hand, was something else entirely. As a kid, I was always getting into trouble, and Valerie was often the one who ratted me out. I'd usually "run away" when this happened, which meant going to Grandma Mazur's for a few hours and hiding with some books under a "fort" consisting of chairs and a blanket. To be fair, I knew that Valerie wasn't the only one who got me in trouble. Joyce made up horrible lies about me, and my neighbors were nosy, as were most of the people in the Burg.

The tattling wasn't exactly a threat, though. If Valerie said she'd tell our mother, she meant it. Since she was the good sister, she didn't exactly beat me up, or threaten to do so. I guessed, now that I thought about it, that we didn't really do empty threats in my family. If someone said that they'd do something, they did it. Unless another person ran interference. Even then…

"I guess…"

Morelli gave my shoulders another squeeze. "Well, you can relax, Cupcake. I was kidding." He paused before adding, "I see I'm going to have to be really careful about what I say around you," he teased.

I gave a half laugh, half snort. "I'm adaptable. Sometimes."

"So, I can say what I want, as long as it's so outlandish you know I'm not completely serious?" he prodded.

I considered. "That seems fair."

"Like, if I said, 'I'll lock you in the cellar and only give you bread and water if you change the channel when I'm watching a game', you'd know I was kidding, right?"

I gave him a playful shove. "We don't even _have_ a cellar."

He snorted. "Okay, then I'll lock you in the basement."

I grinned, starting to enjoy this game. "Don't have one of those, either."

"Bathroom?"

I stiffened noticeably, flinching before I could stop myself.

Morelli caught on fast. "Sorry."

I felt stupid. Hadn't he just said he'd been kidding? I sat down on the couch, and Morelli ran a hand through my hair.

"It's going to take some getting used to," I admitted. "And, so you have fair warning, you'll want to be extra careful about what you say for an entire week starting…" I frowned and did some counting in my head. "Next Wednesday."

He pressed his lips against my hair. "Why's that?"

"Because I'll have my period."

Morelli made a face. I laughed grimly.

"How do you think _I _feel about it? I get the damn thing every month!"

"You women are always complaining about that," Morelli half observed, half complained.

"If men got it, they'd be complaining twice as much. Easily. Men are babies when it comes to pain."

Morelli snorted. "Not _all_ men."

"Yeah, _all_ men."

Morelli looked like he wanted to say something, but didn't.

For lack of anything better to do, we ended up watching TV in reasonably comfortable silence for another half an hour. Finally, more for the need to get up and do something than because I really wanted to perform the task at hand, I made a show at looking at the clock before standing up. "I better get this check to my landlord before I decide to spend it. Do you think we could try to track down Robert Smith tonight, after I get back? He's the only one left on my list."

Although, I should make a visit to Vinny's office the next morning to see if anyone new showed up over the weekend. Vinny and I had an official understanding that Joe Morelli had been an exception, and my cases were supposed to be simple and straightforward from now on. Ranger could deal with the high risk, high money FTAs.

We also had an implicit understanding that I'd be taking it easy, in general, for the time being, since everything that had happened with Ramirez and Alpha had been well beyond my comfort level. I needed to get Morelli out of my apartment at some point, which meant reducing my nightmare per week average, and just learning how to feel safer in my home. I had no idea how this would play out in the long term, but it was a plan.

Besides, my parents hadn't taken well to the whole "Stephanie is a bounty hunter" job, and this would make my mom feel better. My grandmother would probably always see the job as exciting (and possibly, an excuse to shoot at people), but that couldn't be helped. I loved Grandma Mazur, but she'd come to a point in her life (or so said my dad) that she was stuck the way she was, and wouldn't change for anything or anyone.

Morelli, eyes still glued on the TV, nodded. I suspected the nod was the absentminded kind that a person gave someone else in order to get them to shut up, while the information basically went in one ear and out the other.

"I'll be back in a half an hour."

When I returned twenty minutes later, I could tell that Morelli had forgotten I'd left the building. I'd taken my keys, but kept the door unlocked, and the door was still unlocked when I'd come back. Morelli hadn't moved from his place on the couch, but he was reading a newspaper instead of watching the TV.

He looked up when he saw me come in. "Where were you?"

"Giving my rent check to my landlord," I replied in what I hoped was a patient voice as I shrugged out of his sweatshirt. "But I have to leave soon for dinner at my parents."

He gave me a sheepish grin. "I didn't realize you'd left."

No kidding.

"You were watching TV."

"That's right."

Another silence. Not entirely awkward, but not exactly comfortable. I folded the sweatshirt and lay it on the chair. Morelli's attention shifted from the paper to me, and it made me feel a little uncomfortable. Like he was imagining me without my clothes on.

He probably was, but I didn't want to think about _that_.

I headed to the bathroom, put on some makeup, and ran a brush through my hair before pulling it back into a ponytail. I hadn't been having an especially bad hair day, but I also wasn't having an especially good one. My mother would fuss no matter what I did with it, but at least she wouldn't comment on my need for a haircut if it was pulled back.

I hoped.

The familiar sense of unease came over me as I faced the prospect of spending the next couple of hours with my parents. I concentrated on my favorite dessert as a motivation for getting through the next hour or so. After that, I'd have fulfilled my obligation of being a good daughter—at least for the next day or so—and could worry about locating the last FTA.

When I was finished in the bathroom, I gave myself a final inspection and decided to put on the sweater I'd worn at Mass earlier. I didn't think my shirt showed much, but my mom would probably have something to say about it. Of course, this meant running a brush through my hair once again before I left.

I headed towards the entrance, and Morelli stopped me with an unexpected hug and a kiss on the forehead. Before I could feel too warm and fuzzy about this, he leaned in and whispered, "Don't forget to save me a piece of cake."

I rolled my eyes and sort of wished I'd left out the part about my parents sending me home with leftovers. "We'll _see._"

Morelli released me from his arms, but not before brushing a piece of hair away from my face. I couldn't entirely hold back the smile as I headed out of the relative safety of my apartment and towards the stifled insanity of the Burg.

"Here comes the bounty hunter!" my grandmother called from the door. "Did you get to shoot anyone today?"

My mother made the sign of the cross and my father and I exchanged a glance. It was going to be a _long_ evening.

Now, I usually don't share a lot of my life with my parents. That was one of the main factors influencing my decision to live in an apartment after my marriage to Dickie failed. Sure, I'd get free rent and food if I moved back home, and in the Burg, it wasn't really considered unacceptable for a young woman to be living with her parents. The problem was, I needed my space, and I needed not to be bugged about my life and whereabouts on an hourly basis. Not that my life was all that exciting, until recently, but I wanted some privacy. My mother couldn't understand this, but I think my dad got it to a degree, because after my grandmother came to live with him and my mom, I _know_ he's been wishing he could spend more time away from home. It wasn't that he didn't love my mom. It was that he couldn't _stand_ her mother.

Living apart from my parents was proving to be convenient as far as keeping Morelli's existence in my life private. _I _knew that we weren't a couple, but I knew that my mother wouldn't see it that way. She'd view what I was doing as a variation of living in sin, and say that I should just move back home if I didn't feel safe in my apartment.

Honestly, I wasn't even sure what my parents knew about Morelli's involvement in my life after I'd turned him in. They knew I'd caught him, of course, but that was the full extent of it. I hadn't mentioned that he'd visited shortly after being released, and I certainly never said anything about us being on speaking terms. They didn't know we'd been working together to find the missing witness, partly because it hadn't been entirely legal. Mostly because it would give my mom ideas about my marital status, or the potential of my marital status, which I didn't even want to think about.

As far as they were concerned, I had a new job and had earned a nice fee for bringing in Morelli (who turned out to be innocent), and that was it.

Probably, they should know—at some point—that Morelli and I now had a semi professional relationship. It would probably make my mom feel better to know I had—occasionally—backup when I needed to pursue a particularly elusive FTA.

That didn't have to come up today, or anytime soon.

My mom led me to the table, where my dad and grandmother were already seated.

As it turned out, we ended up eating fairly quickly because Grandma Mazur wanted to leave before seven to get to a viewing.

"This one's gonna be an open casket," she explained in between bites of chicken. "I'm looking forward to seeing how Stiva managed all the moles on her face!"

My father made a strangled sound, and my mom quickly changed the subject.

"How have you been, Stephanie?" she asked me, passing me a plate of chicken. "Do you think you're going to stay in this bounty hunter business for much longer?"

"She better!" Grandma interrupted. "It's a hell of a story, having a granddaughter who's a bounty hunter. _I_ heard the way you got to rough up Joe Morelli when you took him down to the station."

"It's not a big deal," I said. "He was innocent. Turned out he killed in self defense."

"Bet a lot of women are glad to hear that, huh? He's a hell of a looker, if you know what I mean."

"She belongs in a home," my father muttered.

My mother ignored him.

"Are you going to take on a respectable job, Stephanie? I hear that they're hiring at the button factory," my mom urged.

"Hell, Steph here doesn't want to make a living sewing on buttons! This new job is _exciting_," Grandma interjected.

The conversation went on like this for awhile. I was tempted to reassure my mom that I had some backup, in the form of Joe Morelli, but I didn't think that would really reassure her. Probably, it would just remind her that I wasn't married, or dating anyone.

The pineapple upside down cake was especially good, though, so that ended up being a fair trade. I ended up eating two thick slices. Best of all, Mom sent me home with the rest of the cake, since she knew it was my favorite dessert. I also got several pieces of chicken, a container of mashed potatoes and gravy, and a small box filled of chocolate chip cookies that she had made earlier that afternoon.

"Just something to snack on," she told me, as she gave me the customary hug and kiss goodbye. "Think about the button factory, all right?"

Morelli was in my kitchen when I arrived, and I could smell Pino's pizza from the entrance. I was pretty full from dinner, but the smell was tempting. When he saw me come in, Morelli grinned and pulled me into a long hug and kissed my forehead. When we separated, I made my way towards the table.

"Thought you were waiting for my mom's chicken," I teased, putting the bag of leftovers on the table.

Morelli opened the bag and began removing the food. "I got hungry. There's some pizza left, if you want some."

I plopped down on a chair next to the one he'd been sitting in. "Maybe later. I'm too stuffed right now."

Morelli began to put the food in the refrigerator, including the leftover pizza. "Still up for finding Robert Smith?" he asked after he'd finished. I nodded, reluctantly standing up. "Ready to go now?"

"Let me go to the bathroom first."

I peeled off the sweater, exchanging it for Morelli's sweatshirt, and took care of the usual bathroom business. Morelli was waiting for me when I returned, smiling. He put an arm around my shoulders after we left and locked up my apartment. I was pretty sure the hard part would be _finding_ Smith, but it couldn't hurt to have a cop watching my back in case things got violent.

We stopped at a few bars before locating him at one of the smaller ones. I introduced myself, explained that he'd missed the court date, and drove him to the station. He was too drunk to protest much, so I wasn't sure if he was fully aware of what was going on. He barely noticed Morelli, who'd taken a seat next to him in the back. I deposited Smith, collected my body receipt, and began planning how I'd spend the extra few hundred dollars in my bank account.

It wasn't quite nine when we got back, but I felt ready to pass out for the next day or so. There's a lot of emotional stress that goes into the bounty hunter job, and a lot of time spent planning. It kind of stinks that I only got paid for bodies delivered, as opposed to the amount of time spent tracing down people and capturing them. One of my biggest on the job expenses was turning out to be gas, which Vinny wasn't about to reimburse me for. The job, I realized, didn't exactly have benefits. The hours might be flexible, but you could just as easily say that you had to be willing to work at _all_ hours of the day or night. I wondered if I'd really be able to earn enough money to live a regular life, including taking the occasional week off. Probably not a good idea to ask Vinny about this right now, seeing as I was still new.

Morelli interrupted my musings by asking me a question. "Thinking about how you're going to spend that money?"

"That, and some other stuff," I replied, taking a seat next to him on the couch. I didn't expand on this, even though he probably wanted me to.

I was beginning to notice that Morelli, unlike Dickie, took an active interest in my life. He knew me well—sometimes, too well. I wasn't sure if I was transparent, or if it was because he'd spent the last two weeks living with me, but he always seemed to guess when I was about to say something, or when I was feeling uneasy. It hadn't escaped my notice that my nightmares usually came when he wasn't sleeping next to me. I'd had a couple when he'd been there, so it wasn't like his presence was some kind of good luck charm that kept them away. But I had them a lot more when Morelli _wasn't_ there.

I wasn't a stranger to nightmares, but they hadn't been a daily occurrence before I'd started this job.

If I wanted to prevent Morelli's stay here from becoming permanent, I was going to have to figure out A) what his goal was as far as my nightmare per week ratio, and B) how I could get this problem under control.

A/N: If you've read this far, I'd appreciate it if you could take a minute to leave a review. I value ALL feedback, as long as it's constructive. Even a line or two would make my day!


	14. Bedtime talk

We'd been watching TV for about ten minutes when I decided to turn in for the night. It was only 9:00, but I was exhausted. Too much emotion over the last couple of days. I'd head over to Vinnie's office the next day and see if any new FTAs appeared over the weekend. If there were, great. If not, that was okay, too. I had the money that I needed for my next month's rent, and I was doing pretty well on stuff like groceries and Rex's food.

I stretched and stood up. "I'm going to bed," I told Morelli.

His attention shifted from the TV show to me. "Want me to join you?"

It was a fairly innocent question—coming from him. We both knew that sleeping together would _not_ result in sex. It probably wouldn't even result in making out. Morelli had kissed me a few times since he'd come to live with me, but they'd all been on the forehead. I didn't mind this.

Fact was, I slept better when Morelli was next to me. The nightmares were less frequent, and I usually snapped out of them more quickly.

Still, I hesitated.

Was it that I still didn't trust him? That seemed unlikely. Ever since I confronted Morelli about the shower incident, I felt more open towards him. It was like there had been this invisible wall between us, and I had smashed it down. Sure, there were still fragments of the wall, but communication was mostly open now.

It also helped to know that I wouldn't have to worry about Joe Morelli getting even with me for turning him in. I'd kept his threat in the back of my mind, but now I could forget about it entirely. He genuinely cared about me, and I felt a lot safer with him than I did without him.

"Steph?"

"I'm thinking."

He rolled his eyes. "How about if you get ready for bed, and I'll check in on you after this show's over?"

In other words, a compromise. I could still kick him out—or prevent him from joining me—if I felt uneasy in twenty minutes or so. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

"Okay."

I took a hot shower, ran a comb through my hair, brushed and flossed my teeth, and then put on a long flannel nightgown. Morelli was still watching TV when I headed towards my bedroom. I left the door open, mostly so that he wouldn't wake me if I fell asleep before he came to check on me. I lay in bed, flat on my back, thinking about the day's events and the large piece of pineapple upside down cake I'd eat after lunch the following day. Of course, this got my stomach grumbling, and I debated whether I should just eat the slice of cake now. Problem was, I'd have to brush my teeth again, and I wasn't too thrilled about the idea of getting out of bed. I wasn't exhausted anymore, but I felt extremely comfortable. Probably, the only thing that could make me get out of bed would be the need to go to the bathroom.

Morelli poked his head in a few minutes after I'd decided to save the cake for the following day. He was dressed in a t-shirt and boxers, and his hair looked wet from the shower. Wordlessly, he crept to the other side of the bed—the side I'd started to think of as "his". Strange.

"Still awake?" he asked, pulling back the covers.

"Yes. Thinking," I replied, turning over on my side to face him.

His arm wrapped around my shoulders, and I leaned in towards him without thinking. By the time I realized what I'd done, it was too late to do anything without it seeming awkward.

"Anything interesting?"

"Nothing earth shattering." I put my head on his chest. I figured, hey why not? We were already sort of cuddling, and I might as well get comfortable. Sure it was emotionally weird, but it didn't have to be physically awkward. "Are you going to sleep now?"

It might have sounded like a dumb question, but it served a purpose. The light on my bedside table was still on, and I wanted to know if I should turn it off.

"Sure, Cupcake."

I moved out of Morelli's grip and flicked the switch. I was about to resume my previous position when he spoke up again.

"Were you going to shut your door?"

I shrugged—not that he could see it very well in the dark. "My front door's locked and bolted. If someone comes in, shutting my bedroom door won't do much to stall them."

"Do you get intruders very often?"

"You, twice," I recalled. "Ramirez, once, kind of. Ranger, but he was technically invited. Alpha, once."

Morelli laughed. "I'm already here. Ramirez is locked up in a high security prison until his trial date. Trust me, he's not gonna get out anytime soon. As for Alpha, he's…well, you know…"

I did.

"How'd Ranger break in?"

I frowned, trying to remember, but drawing a blank. "Probably picked the lock."

"And _why_ did he break in?"

I could imagine Morelli's cop face firmly in place, and I figured it was only partly because he was concerned about my safety.

"That was when you'd handcuffed me to the shower rod," I reminded him. "I figured he was my best shot of getting out and still living a semi normal life."

Morelli's hand wrapped around my waist and I let out a small gasp. More from surprise than anything else.

Okay, if I was going to be _completely_ honest with myself, there was some pleasure involved as well.

"I'd have figured you'd call Mary Lou. She being your best friend and all that."

"I wasn't thinking clearly at the time," I reminded Joe.

"Evidently."

His tone portrayed some emotion that wasn't just amusement. Anger, maybe. Bitterness. I assumed that it was directed more at himself than towards me. I hadn't asked Morelli to trap me like that. He had no business regarding who I'd chosen to call to get out of the trap.

"So, Ranger broke in? Didn't you tell him the window was open?"

I released myself from his hold and turned on the light. Better to see Morelli's face if we were going to have a serious conversation.

"Yeah. He said he didn't do that kind of thing when it was raining. Guess he figured he'd put his lock picking skills to good use."

"I should be grateful he didn't disassemble the door," Morelli mused. Not smiling. Definitely wearing his cop face.

"It's what the police would have done. Or the fire department," I countered.

"That's different, Cupcake. Those people were professionals. They'd be doing their job."

"From what Connie's said, Ranger's as damn near good a bounty hunter as it gets."

I kept my tone even, but I knew the curse let my feelings slip. Who was this guy, this person I was sleeping with (okay, so there was no sex, but it was technically almost the same thing), getting jealous that I'd called in an expert in my career field when I'd found myself out of my league? Morelli could have avoided the problem entirely—and the conversation—if he'd unlocked the cuffs before taking off.

Morelli put his arms around me. "I'm worried about _you_, Steph. You're obviously still afraid to go to sleep in your own apartment, and it doesn't help matters that a man you hardly know can get in at a moment's notice."

"Dillon installed a deadbolt," I replied. "As for Ranger…he doesn't approach me unless I ask him for help. We've kept it professional. I'm new at this, and I need help. He's like a mentor."

Morelli didn't argue about any of these points. He chose another tactic. "You could solve a lot of these problems if you moved back home with your parents. I know they can be kind of crazy, but so are most of the families in the Burg."

"Living with them wouldn't guarantee my safety." Physical or emotional. "If I kept my job, it might put them at risk."

Morelli began to rub my shoulders. My eyes closed involuntarily, and I let out a breath of air I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

"There _are_ other jobs…"

"I don't want to spend my life working at a button factory or helping forty year old women learn how to apply makeup."

His hands moved toward my neck. A combination of goose bumps and pleasure filled me as his thumb and fingers pressed against my neck, up past my hairline. My eyes remained open, but I was more focused on the feeling of Morelli's hands kneading my neck than on the design of the pillowcase I was staring at.

"Mmmm," I murmured. "That feels really good…"

I hoped it wouldn't end anytime soon.

Morelli released one hand from my neck in order to reach over and shut off the light. Once he'd performed this task, he used the same hand to pull me close to him, against his chest. The other hand never wavered from my neck, and I thought I'd fall asleep at any second. I nestled against him, eyes closing slowly.

"I want you to be careful, Steph. Not just with the FTAs. Ranger is great at what he does, but he doesn't always operate on the right side of the law. If you need anything, come to me first, okay?" he asked me, whispering the words in the ear not covered by the pillow.

"I will," I murmured.

At least, I think I said it. I was half asleep at this point, and with each minute settling deeper and deeper into sleep.

I didn't have any nightmares that night, and when I woke up, I felt as refreshed as if I'd slept for months.

Joe was still there when I opened my eyes. One arm had me tight against him, and the other arm was resting inches away from my neck.

I vaguely remembered our conversation from the previous night, and my promising something to Joe Morelli, but couldn't remember what it was.

A/N: If you've read this far, please take a moment to leave a review! All feedback is GREATLY appreciated/needed/begged for.


	15. Morelli's Musings

**Joe**

During most mornings, it feels like Stephanie and I operate on two completely different schedules. Being vice, I usually get up around 5:30 or 6:00 in the morning, shower and eat a fast breakfast, and am out the door by 7. Stephanie's hours are less set in stone, but she likes to stop by Vinnie's office around 9 to see if any FTA files arrived. That way, she has the entire day to track them down, or has the entire day to do something else if there's no work to be done. As a result, when I first started living with Stephanie, she was rarely up by the time I was headed out the door. I'd make breakfast for her and put it in the refrigerator if it needed to be reheated. When I arrived at her apartment later in the day, the food would be gone and I'd start our dinner. Somewhere halfway into the second week, Stephanie started getting up earlier and I started sleeping in a little. Not that I was leaving for work at 8 or 8:30, but our schedules would intersect by fifteen minutes or so.

Without really talking about it, Stephanie and I developed a new pattern over the past few days which works for both of us. I wake up around between 6:00 and 6:30 and start breakfast. To be honest, if I've been sleeping on the couch, I wake up a lot closer to 6:00, because her couch isn't very comfortable when you're six feet tall. When I first moved in with Stephanie, I almost hoped that she'd have nightmares, because it was an excuse to sleep in a bed. This was before our semi regular nightly cuddle sessions began. Stephanie's nightmares diminished in number and in intensity when I was sleeping next to her. Maybe my presence gave her a sense of security she didn't feel when she slept alone. Maybe it was coincidental—after all, the number of nightmares she had per week _had_ gone down considerably since I'd been living with her, even if you take into account the fact that my time between her bed and the couch had been pretty evenly divided up until the past few days.

Anyway, I'd always be the first to get up, so I'd take advantage of the time and take a hot shower. I'd shave, brush my teeth, and get breakfast ready. I tried to wait until the last minute with preparing breakfast, so that the food didn't get cold. Usually, I'd wait until I could hear Steph moving around in her room before starting the food. In the beginning, she'd shower and dress before eating, which took another twenty minutes. Recently, she'd come to the table still dressed in her nightgown, her hair still a tangled mess from sleep. I never said anything, but I liked that Stephanie felt comfortable enough around me not to get dolled up before breakfast. I'd tease her about her hair, but the truth was, she was sexy regardless. In her flannel nightgown and tangled hair, she looked like she'd come off the set of "Little House on the Prairie" or some other TV show that took place in the wild west towards the end of the 19th century. Beautiful, in an old fashioned kind of way.

Stephanie needed at least one cup of coffee each morning before she was ready to start the day. Before that, she'd be mentally dead, and not in the best of moods. After the coffee, she'd be—while not exactly a morning person—ready to face the day mentally, if not physically. Because of the aforesaid flannel nightgown.

I usually left for work right after we finished breakfast, which meant that I never found out what Steph chose to wear that day until after I got back from work. If she wore a sexy low neck top or a bra that gave her more cleavage, I'd find out sometime between 5:30 and 6.

Weekends were different because we both slept in, usually at least an hour later than usual. If Steph was in the mood, we'd get in some cuddling, but that hadn't happened last weekend because on Saturday, Steph had been mad and purposely woke up super early to avoid me. On Sunday, she'd woken up early for church. I didn't think either event would occur the next weekend, but there was still a full week ahead of work before either of us could really relax.

As I expected, Stephanie was still wearing a blue flannel nightgown and her hair was a complete mess when she sat down at the kitchen table. The nightgown sort of matched her eyes, and was cute in an old fashioned sort of way. It wasn't quite ankle length, but more than covered her knees. On the other hand, the neckline was kind of low, and I could see what was below if I stood close enough. She got annoyed when I did that, so I tried to keep it to a minimum. Anyway, the overall effect of her morning outfit was sweet. The hair, not so much, but a shower with shampoo and (my) conditioner would fix that. I'd been making oatmeal, and it was ready to come off the stove and into the bowls when Stephanie appeared in the kitchen.

I poured her portion into a bowl, did the same with mine, and set them on the table. Gave Stephanie my customary good morning hug and a kiss on the forehead. I could feel her smile as she rested her head against my chest, clearly wanting to draw the hug out. I held her for a few minutes before she let go and took her place at the kitchen table. We ate in peaceful silence for a little before I started up the conversation.

"Any plans for today?" I asked in between bites of oatmeal.

I expected Stephanie to say that she was going to check in at Vinnie's office and look for skips. Then, maybe she'd visit her parents or her best friend, Mary Lou. Her answer partially surprised me.

"I'm going to check in at the office, but I was thinking of doing more research on skip tracing," she told me. "There's probably information at the library on the subject. I could probably talk to Vinnie about it, but he's a jerk and kind of creeps me out. Connie might be able to help, even though her involvement is mostly paperwork related."

It surprised me, but it shouldn't have. Really, it made sense. Steph was still new to the profession, so she could probably use all the help she could get. Sure, she'd brought in me and two other skips, but one of them had been with Ranger's help. I imagined that Ranger would be happy to give her more insight about the field—among a few other things I didn't want to think about—but he was someone who didn't always obey the law. Book research might be the best way to go—at least, to start out.

I didn't say all of this to Steph, of course. If I told her I thought it was good that she wasn't going to talk to Ranger, she'd probably involve him just to bug me. I guessed I shouldn't feel jealous, since Stephanie and I weren't dating or anything. Besides, I figured we were pretty evenly matched if it came down to a fight. Still, I didn't want him involved with Steph any more than was absolutely necessary.

Which, as far as I was concerned, should be not at all.

Obviously, I knew better than to say this to her. We'd never get anywhere—friendship or otherwise—with that talk. Not at this point.

I just said that I thought it was a good idea, that Vinnie was probably an expert but also an expert jerk and sleazebag, and that the library sounded like a solid beginning. I probably sounded a little like a high school teacher giving a student feedback about a term paper idea, but it was better than sounding like an overprotective boyfriend.

Sure, I would admit to being overprotective, but I wasn't her boyfriend.

We did the dishes together and then I headed out to work. I'd rather have stayed at Steph's apartment and spent more time with her, in any sense of the word, but that wouldn't sit too well with my boss.

Maybe I was planning too far ahead, but one of us needed to have a steady income. It probably wouldn't hurt to start saving more of what I earned, either…

Besides, I'd been considering switching from vice to homicide, where the pay was better but the hours were even more inflexible. Of course, at least my paycheck came regularly at two week intervals, and I always knew how much I'd be taking home. Couldn't say that about Steph, who could have a windfall one month and then not make anything for the next five.

I didn't know much about bounty hunters, but I knew Vinnie pretty well, and he didn't seem like the type to pay a set salary. More likely, Stephanie earned ten percent of the pay she collected from bringing FTAs back into the system. This meant that she would be dependent upon people not showing up for their court date. It also meant that she might not have the option of being choosy regarding who she went after, because failure to collect one FTA could mean the difference of making her rent payment on time. I wondered if she'd be able to become successful at this new career path. It wasn't like a regular job, where you clocked in at 9AM and went home at 5PM, knowing exactly how much money you'd earn each day.

Steph was new to the job, and I expected her to make some mistakes. I knew I'd have to help her out—even if she claimed not to want it. I couldn't rescue her whenever she made a stupid move, though, and based on how she'd been when she'd been trying to simultaneously capture me and avoid being killed by Ramirez…

She had a long way to go. Maybe it was me having a big head, but she'd never have been able to bring me in if A) we hadn't been working together and, B) she'd managed to lock me in the freezer with the dead bodies. My being in there had been a dumb move, and I'd underestimated Stephanie's ability to play dirty.

Then again, that kind of thing could be what got Steph far in the field. Maybe she would be a success at it, getting all of her mistakes out early and soon earning the reputation of the bounty hunter from hell.

One thing was certain. Stephanie was resilient. Or, at least, she could act that way. I'd seen how calm and confident she'd been the previous night. You wouldn't think that she'd be someone who had nightmares afterwards. Who sometimes woke up in the middle of the night screaming. Who needed to be held for the better part of fifteen minutes before she stopped shaking enough to get back to sleep.

We'd both finished eating by now, and I removed the bowls from the table. Technically, cleaning up was her job, but for whatever reason, I wanted to take care of it today. I pulled Stephanie into a hug and pressed a kiss against her forehead.

"I'll take care of things here," I told her. "You can get changed…or get some more sleep if you want. It's not even 7 yet—you could get in another hour or so."

Stephanie shook her head. "I'm mostly awake now. Might as well start the day. Thanks, though. I appreciate it."

"Sure thing, Cupcake."

We headed our own ways and I found myself wishing it was the end of the day so I could have another meal with Stephanie and find out how she'd made out with everything.

A/N: Thanks for reading this far. If you could take a minute to leave a review, I'd greatly appreciate it! So would Stephanie and Joe.

Emily: (turns to Steph and Joe) Isn't that right?

(Steph and Joe who nod vigorously)

Steph: She's holding us hostage! Please leave us feedback so that she'll let us go!

Joe: (glaring at Steph) They don't care, Cupcake! They're mostly Babe fans.

Stephanie: (pouts)

(Lula grins evilly in the background)


	16. Stephanie's Monday Musings

After Morelli left, I did the dishes, showered, and put on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt with a flannel shirt to act as a jacket. I'd decided that some variation of jeans and a t-shirt (or long sleeved t-shirt in cooler weather) would be my work uniform from now on. Easier to chase after the FTAs in comfortable clothing. Besides, suits would probably get damaged if I did too much running in them.

I stopped by Connie's office to exchange my body receipt for my latest paycheck, and inquired if any new skips had arrived over the weekend. She looked over the paperwork a few times before shaking her head.

"We have a couple high end cases, but those people make Joe Morelli look like a kitten," she told me. "Ranger takes those. Initially, Morty Byers did the skips that were either too low level for Ranger to handle, or the borderline ones that he felt he could take on without too much trouble. Ranger doesn't want to get involved with anything that will give him less than a thousand dollars. Joe Morelli was one of those borderline cases, and to be honest, I think Ranger would have taken on the case if you hadn't shown up."

"So, my official job is handling the people whose bail is less than ten thousand?"

I had mixed feelings about this. It could be harder to make my rent payments, but for all I knew, maybe this would be safer for me. The larger the bail bond, the more dangerous the criminal, right? I'd wanted to take it easy after scoring Morelli as my big ticket item.

Connie shrugged. "Ranger has his own ways of earning money. If you want to go after some of the people who could give you a few thousand, I doubt that he'd mind. He'd probably be willing to give you assistance, at first. But sometimes we get people who just aren't worth much—like that guy who was arrested for public exposure. I think you got two hundred for him? Ranger wouldn't waste his time for something like that."

So I was guaranteed the low level FTAs, and could negotiate on some of the higher ones. Sounded okay to me. I'd need those as practice to get better, anyway. I nodded my consent.

"Do you have any books or videos on bounty hunting? I could probably use more research."

Connie shrugged. "You could check the library or the bookstore, but we don't have much here. Maybe they've got _Bounty Hunting for Dummies_ or _The Complete Idiot's Guide to Bounty Hunting_? It's not exactly a career path with a ton of competition."

I hid a grimace. "Makes me want to reconsider my new job choice."

Problem was, I wasn't qualified for much else. I had no desire to work in a button factory, or work as a secretary or administrative assistant or whatever they were calling it these days. This wasn't the most stable path, but the hours were flexible, and who's to say I wouldn't get laid off without warning—the way I'd been before—at something else?

"If it were me, I'd spend more time picking Ranger's brain. He's the _best_ out there. That's not to say that Vinnie doesn't know what he's doing, but he's a weasel." She paused. "But you probably already knew that."

"Known it for years," I laughed, grabbing my bag. "I'll check in tomorrow and see if there's anything available?"

"Sure. Stop by around 9:00AM. Everything comes in by then."

My next stop—after picking up two boston crème donuts at Tasty Pastry—was the library. I wanted to avoid buying books if I could help it, because I didn't see that expense as one I could afford. Sure, I had a few thousand dollars in my bank account, but who knew how long that would last? I might see a great dress and pair of shoes at the mall that would relieve me of a couple hundred of that. Clothes and shoes were things you _always_ needed, while books about careers were only as good as the latest edition. With the way technology was changing, I'd just need to keep buying the same book over and over to get the same information. If I could find all that stuff at the library, for free, so much the better.

I just hoped I didn't have _too_ many fines on my account. I hadn't used my card in years, but the librarians remember your fines even if you were five when you had them. If I owed more than twenty dollars, I might just head to the bookstore and see what they had. I'd be out the money either way…

I left the library fifteen dollars poorer from fines, another five dollars poorer from printouts, and with two books that looked somewhat helpful but probably wouldn't provide me with the information I got from my online searches. The reference librarian was nice and tried to help me (I remembered enough about libraries to know that the reference librarians helped you find books for research, and the people who worked at the checkout desk basically just waved your books through a scanner and told you when they were due back. Oh yeah, and they collected fines.) but most of the books in the Trenton library were _fiction_ books about bounty hunters. Like I wanted to read stories about people who had chosen my career path and were probably a lot better at it than I was.

The two books I took home were about family members in jail and kids in jail. I half expected the librarian at the front desk to make some kind of comment, so I immediately went into an explanation about how I was now working with bond enforcement, but there didn't seem to be a whole lot of information about that there.

She raised her eyebrows, and I realized I'd basically insulted the place she worked at. _Shit._ I started to apologize, but she just smiled and said she'd ask her manager about purchasing materials on "other law enforcement related professions".

I was sure _that_ would go over really well. Probably, they'd be laughing at the crazy girl with the wavy hair during their lunch break, and I'd be getting a call from my mother before dinner that day complaining about my new job. Because, of course, the entire Burg would know before 2PM.

Well, at that point, I figured I was stuck regardless, so I just smiled and left, wanting to bang my head on the wall repeatedly.

The pages I'd printed out, fortunately, were pretty helpful. I hadn't read them while I was at the library—just printed out anything that looked reasonably good, and had a small heart attack when I realized I was leaving the library with fifty pages to read. Fifty _dense_ pages, too. Somewhere along the line, I'd found it necessary to print out an article about the pros and cons of bail bond enforcement in North Carolina. I was pretty sure I hadn't _meant_ to print it out.

Or, maybe it was a sign I was supposed to move to North Carolina. I mean, if someone felt it was necessary to write a fifteen page article on the subject, there had to be _some_ demand, right?

Who was I kidding? That article was going straight to the trash the minute I got home. The only reason I didn't trash it at the library was because I didn't want to look completely stupid.

It was a little after one by the time I got out of the library, and I debated the merits of going to Pinos for a meatball sub for lunch or heading home to make myself a peanut butter sandwich on white bread. Neither sounded especially healthy, but I could save ten dollars if I ate at home, so I chose that option. I even ate an apple with my peanut butter sandwich, and felt so good about my healthy lunch that I finished the second donut, even though I'd been planning to save that for later. Well, it was later than when I'd bought it, right? Besides, everyone knows you can't wait too long to eat a freshly baked donut. It would probably be stale the next day, so it would have been half stale by that evening. I was doing my body a favor by eating it while it was fresh, because then I wouldn't get food poisoning.

After lunch, I decided to call Mary Lou and find out if she was free that afternoon. We hadn't spent much girl time together since before I'd started my job.

"I'm free for the next hour, and then the kids come home from school," she offered. "I'm doing laundry now, but that can wait."

Mary Lou knew my folding skills were about as good as my ironing skills, which was to say that they were pretty horrible. I blame my mother for this. Growing up, she never taught me or my sister to do laundry, and any clothes that needed washing magically reappeared in our drawers, neatly folded and ironed, practically the same day we'd (okay, _I'd_) left them on the floor. When I left home for college, I figured out the basics of washing and drying clothes, but I never bothered with folding them. I mean, really, what's the point? Jeans don't get wrinkled, and most shirts are okay as long as you don't put a whole bunch right on top of each other. The few dresses and skirts I have I hang up in the closet. I guess you could say that it's a good idea to fold socks so that they match, but I'd rather cross that bridge when I come to it. As for underwear, if someone has a problem about whether or not it's wrinkled, I'd argue that this would be an indication that the relationship is not meant to last.

Maybe, if I ever have kids, I'll master the art of folding clothes. For now, I like my way of doing things, and one of the many benefits of having a hamster—and this goes for virtually any pet—is that you don't need to dress them or wash their clothes.

Morelli hasn't said much, so far, about the way I put my clothes away, but I have noticed that he's neater than me. Not compulsively neat, but he does fold his socks and separate his dark shirts from his light ones.

Anyway, as penance for not being able/willing to help with the folding, I decided to make a second run to Tasty Pastry and pick up a few more donuts and coffee. The extras were in case Mary Lou's kids came home and wanted a snack, and besides, what kind of friend would I be to let Mary Lou eat something without joining in with her?

Good thing my jeans hadn't been feeling tight lately. And good for me for eating an apple with my sandwich.

I arrived at her house with six different flavored donuts and two hot cups of coffee. We hugged, sat down to chat.

"I heard you got Joe Morelli," she said, grinning.

"Yeah, but it turns out he was innocent. Just between us, we ended up working together towards the end."

This was kind of against accepted police policy, so even though Morelli had been cleared of all charges, it didn't seem wise to go around broadcasting his not exactly following the law.

Mary Lou raised her eyebrows. "Word is you delivered him in a refrigerator truck…"

I smiled evasively. "It's a long story, but the gist of it was that he'd said one too many demeaning things about my ability to turn him in over the past couple of weeks. But things are okay between us now."

"So, are you two…"

"We're friends, whatever that means. He's made comments about being willing to have sex with me, but I usually just tell him to shut up."

Among other things.

"I don't know, Steph. He's changed a lot since we were teenagers. He's the only Morelli man who _has_ a good job and _doesn't_ have a drinking problem."

"He has at least one beer every night." I said this without thinking, and immediately covered my mouth.

If my words hadn't given me away, my actions sure had. _Shit._ I trusted Mary Lou completely, and I knew she wasn't going to go around gossiping to the Burg, but I really didn't want anyone to know that Morelli and I were living together.

Because, well, it wasn't like we were romantically involved. It was just a friendship thing. It was kind of hard to know that Morelli was just living in my apartment—my very small apartment—because I'd been having nightmares and had trouble being alone in it. But that was the truth. Neither of us wanted a relationship—hell, I wasn't even sure if I wanted a friendship—but I wasn't about to move back home, and I couldn't deny that his presence in my apartment was helping a lot. Especially at night.

I guess it made me feel like I was weak. That after all that happened, I needed someone to _be_ there. I mean, let's face it, if Mary Lou hadn't gotten married and had kids, she'd probably be taking over Morelli's role right now. And it would have felt completely normal. No one would think twice about it. But she had gotten married, and while I was happy for her and Lenny, it also meant that she wasn't as available in the best friend capacity.

Not that I'd say this to her face.

"Stephanie Plum, you better give me all of the dirty details."

I shrugged, not wanting to lie, but not wanting to tell her the whole truth.

"He's over a lot."

Well, this was true.

"So there _is_ something going on!" she crooned.

"No!" I snapped. Then I counted to ten, took a deep breath, and started again. "He spends a lot of time at my apartment, yeah, but it's not like we make out or anything. We're not having sex."

Just sleeping together in the literal sense of the word.

"He came over with a pizza right after getting released, and basically offered it as a peace offering. Morelli realized that he'd been a jerk in the past, and sort of wanted to start over."

I gave a few examples of some of the things we did together—playing board games, watching TV, talking—but left out some of the major things, like the fact that we were temporarily living together. Maybe I was being a jerk and the world's worst best friend, but I just didn't want anyone to know about it. Not just then, but preferably not ever. I wasn't ready for any kind of relationship, and if I was, Joe Morelli would be one of the last people I'd consider. Okay, I'd consider him over Dickie, but I'd consider Vinnie over Dickie. At least with Vinnie, you knew what you were in for. Unless you were his wife.

Mary Lou didn't seem totally convinced that we wouldn't become an item, but she didn't press the matter much further. Guess she knew from experience that when I had decided something, I was set. At least, until I changed my mind on my own. Anyway, if her fantasies turned into reality and Joe Morelli and I eventually became an item, I'd spill everything to her. Until then, it was too messy, and I wanted to avoid messiness.

We moved onto other topics, and before I knew it, her kids were home from school and I was excusing myself before the noise became too bad. I guess I felt sort of guilty for not telling Mary Lou everything that was going on.

A/N: As always, feedback is always welcome and begged for.

I am not able to say for sure whether Stephanie and Joe Morelli are being held hostage, but Lula assures me that IF they are being placed in "protective custody of the author", they are being treated very well. They would especially like reviews from readers.


	17. Remembering, part 1

After I left Mary Lou's house, I didn't have very much to do. I could start reading the books and articles from the library, but I thought that just _going_ to the library and tracking down the materials was enough research for one day. I didn't need to go food shopping anytime soon. I could go to the mall, but I didn't have a whole lot of money in my bank account that I could afford to waste on stuff I didn't need. I supposed that I could be a good daughter and visit my parents, but I'd just been over the night before. Twice in two days felt excessive.

I headed back to my apartment, deciding to take the few hours to do some cleaning and maybe take a nap. Morelli and I had an unspoken agreement that I did my regular cleaning chores, like cleaning the bathroom and scrubbing the toilet. All stuff that I did when I lived on my own. His appearance sort of lessened the amount of chores I had in the sense that he did most of my laundry (I handled my bras and underwear at my parents' house), and he cleaned up after himself when it came to not leaving dirty clothes around the apartment. Morelli wasn't exactly messy, and I was hardly a neat freak, but I didn't like dealing with other peoples' messes in my space.

It had been awhile since I'd mopped the kitchen floor, so I decided to start with that. Housework, once you figure out how to do it, is pretty boring and requires little to no brain power, so I often spend that time in my own world. My body knows what to do, and I often emerge from my imagination only to find that all of the floors in my apartment have been swept, and the dirty dishes were put away. In fact, if I _don't_ pay attention to what I'm doing, I usually do a better job than when I _do_ pay attention. Go figure.

Today, my thoughts turned to the day Morelli had decided to move into my apartment.

After Morelli's confession about the writing on the stadium wall, I'd been understandably ticked off. I'd seriously wanted to hit him. He stood over me, _taunting_ me, while I struggled to get out of my rubber donut that I used for sitting because of the seventeen stitches in my butt.

"You're scum, Morelli. _Scum_," I told him.

His response had been that he gave good pizza.

Probably innuendo, since it wasn't like he'd made the Pino's pizza he'd brought over. Just paid for it and carried it to my apartment.

I decided against trying to hit him again. Morelli was fast, and I was still stuck in the donut. Better to act annoyed without doing anything. Then, at the most important part of the game, I'd smack him upside the head. He'd never see it coming.

I just glared at him for a few minutes, and Morelli had his hands in his jeans pockets, looking sheepish.

"Oh, would you sit down already?" I grumbled. "How the hell did I not find out about this before?"

Morelli took a seat on the floor, outside of easy reach of my hands. Probably wanted to be ready to run in case I changed my mind. I repositioned myself in the rubber donut, and it made a loud noise, sort of squishy sounding, until I stopped moving.

I couldn't wait for the stitches to come out. I still had to wait at least another week for that event. The doctor had told me they'd give me painkillers if I needed it, because the site would still be sore for a few days. I'd probably need the donut for at least ten more days.

"You didn't find out because the gym teacher got a confession out of me," Morelli replied. "He convinced the school not to suspend me if I did fifty hours of community service, most of which I spend helping the janitors repaint the walls on the stadium."

"Did you?"

He grinned. "The community got a good deal out of it. Not just with the community service part. The paint on that wall had been looking awful for years. My poem about you was the perfect excuse to repaint the whole stadium." He was silent for a minute. "The poem was probably up for less than a week. Not many people even went into the stadium, you know. It wasn't a cool social hang out place."

I gave a brief nod. "And the sub shop poem?"

"Actually, they painted over that one in less than two weeks, but I guess it was a more popular hang out spot."

"Any other places I should know about?"

Morelli shook his head. "All of the evidence is long gone."

Right.

I took a sip of beer to calm my nerves. "I'm assuming you were drunk when you painted vivid details of our _one_ sexual encounter."

Morelli looked at the floor, obviously hurt. "Cupcake, do you really think I'd do something like that if I was sober?"

"Probably not," I conceded.

If for no other reason than he was scared of his mother and Grandma Bella. His dad had died a few years after Morelli became a teenager, so the main source of discipline in his life was long gone at this point. Not that the female relatives in his family were much of a picnic, but they wouldn't use the belt on an eighteen year old.

Or an eight year old, I imagined.

"Anyway, I'm really sorry about it. I was a jerk back then."

The jury was still out on whether Joe Morelli was _still_ a jerk, but I figured now might not be the best time to say so.

I took a deep breath before answering. "I noticed. Fine, whatever. I forgive you for _that_. Sort of."

I munched on a second slice of pizza and Morelli, figuring that was the best he could hope for, grabbed his third piece and scooted over closer to me. I told myself that this had more to do with the fact that reaching the pizza box meant sitting closer to me than an arm and a half's length than anything else.

We watched the game for a few minutes. Or, rather, Morelli watched the game while I tried to maneuver myself into a more comfortable position on the floor in the donut. I could switch to the one remaining comfortable chair in my apartment, but it wouldn't actually feel comfortable with my butt the way it was. I might as well just stay on the floor.

If I had a couch, that might be different. I could stretch out on it, lay on my stomach, and make Morelli take the chair, since _his_ butt didn't have seventeen stitches in it. I planned to buy a couch, soon, but it wasn't exactly a number one priority. I didn't want to make any major purchases until the stitches were out and I was feeling, physically at least, completely myself again.

I leaned against the wall, thinking that might help. It did, but my donut let out a loud noise, and Morelli's attention shifted from the game to me. I couldn't quite place the look on his face—amusement? Annoyed? Sympathetic?

"It's not my fault!" I protested, before he could say anything. "This damn thing is made out of rubber. I can't make a single move without it complaining."

Morelli smiled. "I can see that."

For the second time that night, he put his arms around me, moving me so I was practically sitting in his lap. Okay, not quite, but sitting closer than I'd normally feel comfortable. Morelli repositioned my upper body so that my head was balanced in the crook of his arm, which might sound painful, but somehow felt nice. Like his arm was a pillow. His other arm wrapped itself around my shoulder. My legs stretched themselves out so that they were laying on the floor. I felt myself relaxing against Morelli.

"Better?" he asked, looking down at me.

"Yeah," I admitted. "Thanks."

I was leaning pretty heavily into one arm, and I hoped Morelli would remember not to move it suddenly if the game took an unexpected turn. I wasn't sure which side I was supposed to be rooting for, because _neither_ team's name sounded even remotely familiar. Not that I really follow sports on TV.

The arm I wasn't leaning into hovered around my stomach. I felt Morelli start to stroke my hair. Ordinarily, I would have made some comment about not being a dog, but it didn't seem like it was worth the effort. Besides, if I was going to be completely honest, it felt good. My eyes closed, and then opened suddenly as the hand shifted from my hair to my neck.

"Are you planning on strangling me?" I demanded.

Morelli made a noise that sounded like a mixture of a laugh and a snort. "I was planning on giving you a back rub. That okay?"

Oh.

I'd never actually _had_ a back rub before, though I knew what they were. My family was never touchy feely in that way—my parents expressed their love for us by food, rather than with hugs and kisses. My ex-husband had been more physical, in that he always wanted to have sex, but less affectionate as far as cuddling. I didn't consider my lack of receiving physical affection to be a major loss on my part. I mean, you can't really miss what you never had, right? Besides, I wouldn't have pegged Joe Morelli as the type to do cuddling or give massages, but he'd done—or started to do—both in less than an hour. It was not exactly unsettling, but gave me a sense of unease, as though Rex had suddenly started talking in fluent English.

I gave what I hoped was a nonchalant shrug. "I'm kind of ticklish," I admitted.

"I'll stop if you start laughing uncontrollably," Morelli promised.

"Fine."

I put my head back down in the crook of his arm, and waited for Morelli to start. If he took things too far, I'd tell him to stop. Really, there was no reason _not_ to let Morelli do this, if he really wanted to, and it might be somewhat relaxing on my end.

After what I'd been through over the last couple of weeks, I deserved to relax for the next half hour or so.

He started at my neck and slowly worked down towards my shoulders. A delicious shiver spread through me. Up until now, I'd maintained that my three favorite things in life—in this order—were birthday cake, sex, and room service. My parents claimed that my first word had been "cake". Sex was something I'd first discovered with Morelli, and it had been _almost_ as good. Room service was complete luxury because you got to tell someone exactly what you wanted to eat and they brought it to where you were staying. No waiting in line, no sitting around listening to other people talking or arguing. Room service was basically breakfast in bed, but it was also lunch in bed, dinner in bed, and even dessert in bed. If I ever stayed in a hotel and birthday cake was offered as an item on the room service menu, I'd consider my life to have reached its highest point. Might as well die in a car accident the next day, because there was no way life would get any better.

_This_ didn't quite top room service, but it was an easy number four. _Well, okay,_ I reconsidered as my eyes closed, _maybe this _does_ beat room service._

After all, you have to pay for room service, and it's not like you can order _anything_ you want. Besides, this was a lot more relaxing and required no effort on my part, no difficult decision making about what I wanted to eat or whether I'd regret it when the bill came in…

I knew I was falling asleep when I started to see images of birthday cakes on clouds…

The birthday cakes quickly turned into Alpha and Ramirez. Ramirez had somehow put me in handcuffs, on my hands as well as my feet, and was running after me with a long, bloody knife. He was screaming that he was going to hurt me, going to make me pay, going to make me respect him. I was just out of his reach when Alpha appeared, blocking my path. He had a gun in his hand, waving it around like crazy. I attempted to change direction, but it was too late, and Alpha had just caught me and had the gun to my temple when I woke up screaming.

It took a minute to remember that Alpha was dead, Ramirez was in jail, and I was in my apartment with a _relatively_ safe Joe Morelli, who'd been rubbing my back up until this point.

He held me closer as he heard me screaming, and I fought against him as though he were Ramirez.

"Let me go!" I yelled through tears.

Morelli jumped back, probably figuring it was best to give me some physical space until I got oriented. He had this look on his face, like he'd seen a ghost, but later I figured that he probably looked a lot more normal than I had at that moment.

I'd made it out of the donut and had limped across the room, panting and butt aching. A part of my mind hoped that I hadn't broken any stitches. Morelli picked up the donut and walked towards me, slowly and purposefully, standing a good two feet away from me while I collected myself. Once I had my breathing and heart rate under control, the tears resumed. _Damn _it_._

"Cupcake," Morelli murmured, bridging the gap between us.

For the second time that night, he pulled me into his arms, and I just let him hold me, not hugging him back, but not stepping away from the hug. He guided me to a chair, put the donut on top of it, and eased me into it. Stroked my hair and talked to me as though I'd been a confused child. I appreciated the concern, but somehow, that just made it worse. My tears, which had been under control, now turned into sobs. Morelli eased me out of the chair, sat in it, and pulled me onto his lap.

"Steph, it's going to be okay. It was just a bad dream," he murmured.

He held me with one arm and began to rub my back with the other. This continued for at least five minutes, until my sobs became hiccups.

"Are you okay?" he asked me as the hiccups died down.

I nodded, which was pretty much a lie, which both of us knew. But I was under control, and that was what he meant.

I hated myself for falling asleep. Hadn't nightmares usually come when I was sleeping? I hadn't had a full eight hours at once since Alpha had broken into my apartment. I'd taken to catnapping during the day instead. This didn't exactly leave me feeling rested, but I could function well enough. I should have known not to put myself in a position to fall asleep when Morelli was there. The longer I slept, the more likely the nightmares would arrive.

"Do you get those a lot?" Morelli asked me.

I wasn't facing him, but I figured that he'd know if I was lying. So, my response was bitter.

"Define 'a lot'."

I could hear him taking a few deep breaths of his own, probably counting to ten. _Definitely_ rolling his eyes.

"Cupcake, a lot would be more than twice a week."

I snorted at this, because I considered myself lucky if I only had two nightmares a night. Seemed like whenever I went to bed, Alpha or Ramirez—or both—were waiting for me.

"Why don't you move back home?" Morelli suggested.

I gave an involuntary shudder.

"Stay at a friend's? You and Mary Lou are still really close, aren't you?"

"She's married, Morelli. She has a husband _and_ kids."

Morelli sighed, clearly unable to dispute this.

There was a long silence, and I figured the conversation was over. I was going to suggest that he go back home, finish watching the game. Take the TV with him—I didn't need it. I'd figure out a way to deal with this. Before I could form any of these words, though, Morelli spoke again.

"Guess you'll have to stay with me, then."

"Wait…_what?_" I practically shouted.

He grinned. "Well, Cupcake, you need protection. I'm willing to give it."

I just sputtered for a couple of minutes, feeling like a fish that had been trapped. Honestly, I felt like I couldn't breathe.

Morelli ran a finger along my face. "Good thing you're sexy, Steph. I wouldn't offer my apartment to just anyone."

I _wanted_ to slap him across his smug face. I settled for getting off his lap and storming into my room. For good measure, I slammed and locked the door.

A/N: Just to clarify, this chapter and the next one will basically be a more detailed look at the events that Stephanie briefly talked about in chapter one. It details the events of the first night, which I hope serves to present more insight into Steph's character and why she was willing to let Joe Morelli move in with her.

The details of the events MAY contradict themselves as I initially described them in the first chapter. My justification for this is that memories can change over time, especially depending on the circumstances. We're approaching the end of the story, so Stephanie's recollection of what happened is bound to be different when she knows that Morelli is about to move out, as opposed to when he's staying on indefinitely.

If you could take a minute to leave a review, that would be great! It doesn't have to be super long, but I really appreciate all constructive feedback. Thanks for reading this far!


	18. Remembering, part 2

I knew I was being a little unfair to Morelli in my reaction, but his words had knocked me off guard. Sure, I'd been having trouble sleeping, and my nightmares when I _did_ sleep for long periods of time were pretty bad. But after hearing that I wasn't going to move back home, Morelli should have taken the hint and shut up. We might have gone from a shaky alliance to a shaky friendship, but that did not give him the right to force me to move in with him. Definitely not the way he put it. Did he seriously think that I would be so grateful for his offer to reinstate his protection that I'd go all gushy and declare that he was my hero? Did he really think that the only reason I _hadn't_ asked for his help was because I was too scared he'd say no?

I dealt with bad situations, and the emotional aftermath, by avoiding them. If you push the uncomfortable emotions away long enough, eventually a real problem will come up and you'll have to deal with that instead. For example, I'd avoided being laid off from a decent full time job by trying to get temp work, selling off my jewelry and furniture, and blackmailing my cousin for a job as a bounty hunter. I no longer had to deal with the crappy feelings associated with not having a regular full time job because I now had a job. Okay, so it wasn't a regular nine to five job, but it was easily full time. I'd be able to pay my bills on time. I could already pay off all of my credit card debt—and have money to spare—once I mailed the checks off to the credit card company. I no longer needed to declare bankruptcy.

Yeah, there were now emotional issues surrounding my new job, but I'd survived the physical threats, and if I avoided the issue of my night terrors and fear of being alone in my apartment, soon another problem would come up to take the edge off of that. My system was a good one. It worked for most of my life. It was the one my entire family used. It didn't kill us…okay, so maybe it wasn't the best way to live life, but who's to say that confronting emotions would make my life much easier in the long run?

I sat on my bed, stewing, and before five minutes had passed, I heard Morelli pounding on my door and swearing.

"Damn it, Steph! Would you just let me in?"

I remained silent and waited for Morelli to leave my hallway. The pounding stopped, but the lack of footsteps indicated that he was still right outside my door. I heard some pacing, and finally a louder noise which sounded like he'd taken a seat right outside my door.

Jerk. He hadn't handcuffed me this time, but I was still trapped. Okay, so I could leave my room if I wanted, but I'd have to walk past Morelli. I couldn't stay in my room forever. I mean, at some point, I'd have to pee.

I shifted my position on my bed because, having not taken the rubber donut with me, my butt was starting to feel sore.

Another reason I wouldn't be able to stay in my room for the rest of my life. I needed to return to the doctor's office in a week to get the stitches taken out. Otherwise, my entire butt could get infected.

I flopped on my bed so I was lying on my stomach, propping my head up with my hands. I stared at the door. If Morelli wanted to see his game so much, maybe he'd give up and head back to my living room. I could gas him and kick him out of my apartment. Sure, probably there would be repercussions with the law enforcement community if Morelli ratted on me, but I'd deal with those later.

Besides, I was pretty certain that Joe Morelli wouldn't inform his peers that he'd been dumb enough to let me gas him _after_ I'd managed to turn in his FTA ass by locking him in a freezer.

Then again, Morelli had promised revenge at a future point, and gassing him probably would make his payback more severe. Considering what he'd done to me when he _hadn't_ considered it self defense, I really didn't want to think about what he'd do to me when he thought I deserved payback.

Another reason he needed to leave my apartment.

Tears came to my eyes again, and started spilling out. Damn it. It was so unfair. Not only did I have to worry about living in my apartment on my own, I had to worry about Morelli's possible revenge. And I had to worry about getting Morelli out of my apartment.

_Why not just let him stay?_

The voice in my head seemed to come out of nowhere. Not that I was hearing voices, but the idea had just sort of popped into my head.

_Look, Steph. He's a cop, he's a decent cook, and he sort of cares about you. He probably won't pull anything while you have stitches. You don't have anyone else you can get to move in. You could do worse than Joe Morelli._

Yeah, I probably could do worse than him. And yes, all of the things the voice inside of me said were true. It wasn't like I had anything physical to worry about with Joe Morelli. He had tried (and, okay, succeeded) to seduce me in the past, but I'd made it clear that I wouldn't do anything with the stitches in my butt. That would buy me _some_ time. I also knew Joe Morelli well enough to recognize that he was not a rapist. If I said no, he'd respect it.

Problem was, I didn't trust myself enough to say no in every circumstance. There were times when I'd say yes. Not that sex with Morelli would be so horrible, but there would be consequences to it. He wasn't the type to get married—not that I wanted _him_ as my husband—and I wasn't the type to have one night stands. Get enough wine and Morelli persuasion into me, though, and I might reconsider about the last part.

Seemed like agreeing to let Morelli stay at my apartment would be moving from the frying pan into the fire. As much as I could use a good night's sleep, I didn't want to deal with the implications his presence in my daily life would present. Not to mention, the Burg was known for its gossip. If anyone found out Morelli was living with me, then my parents would think I was engaged less than two hours later.

Except for the fact that I didn't really live in the Burg, and the people in my apartment building didn't gossip _quite_ as much, and for the most part, they liked me. Dillon might say something if I asked for an extra key to be made for Morelli, but I didn't have to say it was for Morelli, and he certainly wouldn't rat on me to my parents.

The other alternative was moving in with Morelli. I'd seen his apartment and while it was undoubtedly nicer than mine, and had more furniture, I'd run a greater risk of getting caught by the Burg.

No thanks.

If Morelli wanted to be my roommate, he'd have to live in my apartment.

On the other hand, maybe Morelli had just been teasing. Saying that he'd move in to get me riled up. If so, congratulations, because it had worked. Probably, I should have laughed and said I was a strong, independent female, and could take care of myself. Then, I wouldn't be locked up in my room with a cop waiting outside.

I decided to unlock the door without opening it. If Morelli noticed that the door was unlocked, he could take the initiative with talking to me. If he didn't notice, I'd give him another half hour before sneaking out of my room. If he didn't notice, he might have fallen asleep.

I tried to go about it nonchalantly, but it was like he had super hearing. A few seconds after I unlocked the door, it swung open, and Morelli was standing there, looking concerned and blocking my path.

My best chance of escape was to pretend I had to use the bathroom.

"Excuse me," I said, brushing past him.

"Where are you going?"

"Ladies' room."

I cringed after saying it, realizing I sounded like a wound up old lady, but at least Morelli couldn't see my face.

"Do you need the donut?" he called out, and I could tell that he was smiling.

"_No!" _I snapped back.

I locked the bathroom door and figured that I might as well try and go. Morelli would probably notice if the toilet didn't flush. I cringed again. I needed to get him out of my apartment. Night terrors would be preferable to the weirdness of living with him.

Okay, not _preferable_. It was more like when you were asked to choose between being freezing cold in the winter or being extremely sweaty in the summer. Both options sounded fine if you were currently experiencing the alternative.

I did my business, washed my hands and face, and then decided I might as well brush my teeth while I was there. I wasn't going to eat any more of the pizza that night, and it would take up another few minutes.

Morelli was sitting in my one comfortable chair when I returned to the living room, which meant I had to stand. Except, he got up as soon as he saw me, and sort of guided me to the chair. I shrugged out of his grip.

"Steph."

"Morelli."

He raised his eyebrows. "You _can_ call me Joe."

Names weren't something I wanted to get into a discussion/argument about.

"_Joe._"

It was the first time I'd used his first name since I'd been a teenager. I guessed I'd been distancing myself from Morelli—I mean, Joe—by using his last name. I kind of liked the sound of it. If I had been alone, I would have repeated the word, but I wasn't alone, so I wouldn't use it anymore than absolutely necessary.

I leaned against the wall, seeing this as the best compromise between sitting and standing. I didn't feel like taking the one seat available, but I didn't want to sit on the floor in the squeaking rubber donut. He stood in front of me, maybe a foot away, and it occurred to me that he could easily back me into a corner.

Exhaustion crept over me, and I wanted the whole thing to be over with. If I could get Joe out of my apartment tonight, I'd be able to sleep for awhile and decide what to do the next day. I could always not let him in. Procrastination was probably the best way to go.

"Look, I'm tired, and I don't want to have this talk now."

Morelli nodded, a smile playing at his lips. "Want me to tuck you in?"

I let out a growl. "I want you to go home now."

Another nod. Morelli turned to leave, and then stopped. He grinned sheepishly.

"Um, Steph? There's a problem."

Of course there was. At that moment, I felt like a mother to a teenage boy.

"And that is?"

"I'm practically out of gas, and the closest gas station closed ten minutes ago. If I drove my car to my place, I'd be stranded."

A part of me wanted to snap that this wasn't my problem, and tell Morelli that he could just buy fuel the next day and walk the couple of miles to and back to his car. I knew the gas station he was referring to, and they closed early on Saturdays and opened late on Sundays. Most places were open practically all the time, but the place Morelli referred to was a favorite in the Burg because the prices were slightly lower and the people who ran it were a sweet older couple who'd never been outside the Burg in their entire lives. At least, that was the story.

Probably, Morelli was bluffing. But I didn't feel like I had the energy to make him take me to his car and show me the gas level. Debate with him about the likelihood of being able to drive to his apartment and back with whatever fuel he had. I wanted to go to bed, and if letting Morelli stay at my apartment for an extra night would do this, it was a sacrifice I was willing to make.

Besides, I could always lock my bedroom door.

"You can have the floor or the chair in the living room," I told him. "I don't have any extra toothbrushes or toothpaste. I can loan you a towel and some soap if you want to shower." I'd have to destroy the towel afterwards.

Morelli nodded without saying anything, but I was pretty sure I could see a smile tugging at his lips. I continued.

"I have an extra pillow and _one_ blanket." I gave him a quick scan. "You won't fit into my pajamas. You better not be one of those types who sleeps naked."

This time, he grinned outright. "Sometimes."

I let out a low growl. "Not tonight, you won't."

Morelli held up his hands in mock surrender.

I bit my lip and tried to think of any other stipulations. "I don't cook, and I don't have a lot of food in my fridge. If you want anything other than cereal, you're providing it and you're cooking it."

Morelli gave another nod. "I usually have coffee and donuts with my breakfast."

"You're such a cop."

"You're such a cupcake," he retorted, another smile tugging at his face.

I retrieved the necessary items from my bedroom and bathroom, selecting a pink towel for Morelli with vindictive pleasure. It had been part of a set, a wedding present from one of Dickie's relatives, and I'd always disliked the set because it was so pink. I'd kept it because it was extremely soft and, even then, I couldn't afford to be throwing around money for towel sets I didn't really need. The fact that Morelli would have no choice but to use it, and the fact that I would soon have a legitimate excuse to throw it out, brought a wide grin to my face.

Morelli accepted the items without commenting on the pink towel.

"We'll talk tomorrow. I'm going to bed."

Well, actually, I was going to brush my teeth, wash my face, and then go to bed. I'd planned on showering, but with Morelli in my apartment, _that_ was not going to happen.

"Don't lock your door," Morelli told me as soon as I'd turned away from him.

I turned back so suddenly I thought I might have given myself a permanent butt (and neck) injury.

"Why the hell not?"

Morelli looked like he wanted to eat his words. "Just…I want to make sure you're safe, and since you had that nightmare earlier…"

He trailed off, clearly looking for my help, but I just stared at him stonily. Partly because I couldn't deny that he had a point.

"I won't lock the door, but I _will_ close it, Morelli. If you get any ideas, you'll wish we'd never met."

Morelli planted a kiss on the top of my forehead. "Sweet dreams, Cupcake."

It took me awhile to fall asleep that night. Partly because I wasn't used to sleeping in the same general area as a man of the opposite sex who wasn't my husband or a blood relation. Partly because I was genuinely afraid of nightmares. Partly because I suspected that Morelli would attempt to take advantage of the situation if I did wake up from a nightmare. Also, ironically, because I was afraid I'd have a nightmare and he _wouldn't_ come into my room to check on me, wouldn't even know about it because he'd be in such a deep sleep. Was Joe Morelli a heavy sleeper? I honestly had no idea.

Sleep came, and predictably, so did the nightmares. They always featured Ramirez, often featured Alpha in a lesser role, and occasionally featured Morelli. Never in a good way. To be fair, though, Ranger had played a role in one of my nightmares two days ago, and his role had been a quick, "They're gonna kill you, Babe" before Ramirez started waving a chainsaw around me.

This nightmare didn't feature Morelli, and I was unable to recount the exact details many days later. What I _do_ remember is it scaring the hell out of me, and waking up to find light pouring through my door and Morelli holding a lamp as his weapon of choice.

Immediately, I forced myself to stop screaming and found myself pressing myself against the head of my bed. Pulling the blankets against my pajamas because in all of my confusion, I did not want Morelli to see that I was wearing blue pajamas imprinted with white ducks.

Morelli set down the lamp and crossed towards me. "You okay?"

His voice was surprisingly gentle, but this shouldn't have surprised me. He'd been gentle when he'd first taken me in his arms earlier that night, and again when I woke up from my nap plagued by images of Ramirez. I forced myself to nod, but he sat down on my bed anyway. He didn't pull me into his arms or anything, just sat there as I tried to calm down. Looking back, I realized that this wasn't typical of how Morelli usually acted when I'd had a nightmare. He usually wrapped his arms around me right away and later, once I'd stopped hugging him, would keep an arm around my shoulders and rub my back in small, comforting circles. He'd always start at the area right below my shoulders, work down until he got to my waist, and then focus on my shoulders and my neck. If I hadn't fallen asleep before then.

That night, he waited for me to move towards him, and I did. Slowly, reluctantly, but I closed the foot long distance between us. Morelli draped an arm around me, and I yawned because, well, I was exhausted at this point. Morelli was still in a sitting position when I lay partly against him and partly against my pillow. One arm wrapped around my chest while the other stroked my hair. We stayed like that for awhile, until my eyelids grew heavy. Then, he shifted, and I almost started to panic.

"Are you leaving?"

"I'll stay until you're asleep," he promised, still smoothing my hair.

"Make _sure_ I'm asleep," I told him, or I think I did. Maybe I just thought it.

"Sure thing, Cupcake."

The next morning, I woke up feeling extremely comfortable and very well rested, even though I could feel the dried tears on my cheeks. Morelli had me in a comfortable grip, both arms wrapped around my waist, my neck warm against the crook of his. Knowing I'd have to, if not get out of bed release myself from his hug, I made every effort not to wake Morelli and to savor the feeling of being hugged. At the time, I told myself that's what it had been. But inside, I sort of hoped that this would happen again, and decided that if Morelli _really_ wanted to spend the next week or so at my apartment, there were certainly worse things that could happen to me.

I decided to look around for an inexpensive couch that day. I knew that, we'd have to make some ground rules, but that this could turn out to be a good thing.

And it had been.

A/N: As always, PLEASE take a few minutes to leave a constructive review. I'd greatly appreciate it, and Joe and Steph are feeling lonely being held hostage.


	19. Remembering, part 3

I must have fallen asleep, because when I opened my eyes again, Morelli had gotten out of the bed and had put on his clothes from the night before. His hair was messy and needed brushing. I pulled off the covers and took a minute to stretch before remembering that I was wearing pajamas with ducks. By the time I noticed, I figured it wasn't worth acting embarrassed over.

Morelli smiled at me and reached over to give my hair a playful tug.

"Morning, sleepyhead."

I stood up. "What time is it?"

He checked his watch. "8:00."

I raised an eyebrow. "You call that late?"

"Guess it's not late for a Saturday," he amended.

I got up from the bed. "What time do _you_ usually get up?"

"Five."

I gaped at him. "You're kidding."

He shook his head. "Got to be at work by 7, usually. Sometimes earlier, if there's a meeting."

"I'd need a whole pot of coffee if I had to get up that early."

He laughed. "You and everyone at the station, Cupcake. Fighting crime isn't exactly a nine to five job."

Neither was being a bounty hunter, but I didn't feel like starting a fight with Morelli while in duck pajamas.

"Are you going to work today?" I asked.

"No, I usually get weekends off." There was a pause, and then he added, "I thought we could have a discussion about living arrangements over donuts and coffee."

"Donuts and coffee sound good," I replied, carefully ignoring the part about "living arrangements".

"They're in your kitchen." He must have noticed my blank expression because he added, "I just picked them up."

I followed Morelli into the kitchen and saw two large bags from Dunkin' Donuts. Two large cups of coffee, still with the lids on, sat next to the bags on the table.

Morelli began to take the items out of the bags. "I wasn't sure what you liked, so I got an assortment. Then, I thought you might want something healthier than a donut as well, so I also got some of their bagels."

There was enough food to feed…well, not an army, but certainly a family. I guessed that Morelli had bought two dozen donuts, and at least a dozen bagels. I hoped they could freeze or last in a refrigerator for a few days, because there was no way either of us would be able to eat a third of what he'd bought.

Then again, I was always up for a donut challenge, and some of the flavors looked pretty good…

I snagged a Bavarian crème, my all time favorite, and sat down at one of the few clear areas in front of the table to enjoy my treat. For the sake of balance, I took one of the bagels from the second bag at random, which turned out to be cinnamon raisin. Raisins were fruit, and fruit was healthy, so it would be a balanced breakfast.

Morelli took a blueberry donut and an extremely healthy looking bagel—which I learned later was multi grain—and sat next to me. For the next few minutes, we chomped away at our breakfasts and washed down the food with the still hot coffee. Once I was finished, I let out a contented sigh. I could probably manage another donut or two, but I didn't want to overdo it on a good thing. Maybe I'd eat the one that looked like pumpkin with my peanut butter sandwich at lunch. Or as a mid morning snack.

Morelli had taken a second donut while I'd been finishing my bagel, and I made a mental note that he was a fast eater. Maybe he'd end up finishing the leftovers…

"So," Morelli began, once the food began to digest in our stomachs.

Another blank stare on my part, except this time, it was forced. I figured Morelli was building up to the "living arrangements" conversation he'd mentioned earlier.

"You've been having some trouble getting over what happened," Morelli began. "It's totally normal. We call it Post Traumatic Stress Disorder."

"I'm not _sick_, Morelli," I snapped. "I'm just dealing with what happened last week."

"I know." His voice was low and, surprisingly, gentle. "That's what I'm saying."

"Well, calling it a disorder is like saying I need to be shipped off to some psych ward. Whatever you call what I'm going through…it's temporary."

Morelli sighed. "Usually, it is."

"You think it won't be for me?"

He took my hand, and I didn't pull it away. "Cupcake, I think that what you went through over the past several days was more than what most people go through in their entire lives. You have every right to be shaken up over it."

"Okay."

My voice came out shakier than I'd have liked, but at least I didn't start crying like I had the day before. Just what I needed, to seem like a big crybaby in front of Morelli. Not that I _cared_ what he thought, but even so…

He kept my hand in his. "I'm not saying we need to take you to a psychiatrist for pills or make you see a shrink, Steph. I'm just saying that I'd like to keep an eye on you and make sure you're doing okay. Especially if you want to continue this line of work. You got to know how to deal with this type of stress." He raised a hand before I could protest. "I'm _not_ saying you're weak or anything, but you _are_ new to this, and I've kind of been there."

I gave him another blank look. "You've been a bounty hunter?"

He rolled his eyes at me, but I got the sense that the gesture was meant to be affectionate. Exasperated, but well meaning enough.

"When you join the navy, when you join the police force, you see a lot of stuff you really don't want to see. It's a totally different world. I've seen really horrible images, things that would give you nightmares for the rest of your life. They know this, and they give us tips on how to manage it.

"But," he added, "there's a big difference between knowing what to do when you've had a horrible nightmare, or when you're scared to walk into your own apartment because you know there's a serial killer on the loose, and having someone there with you when you're going through it."

I was quiet for a little, thinking this over. I couldn't deny that it made sense. I also couldn't deny that it felt pretty chauvinistic of Morelli to think that I needed help in dealing with the repercussions in what he clearly thought was a career path I had no business taking.

I mean, if I'd been a male friend of his and had gone through the same thing, he'd probably just buy me a beer and say that I'd have to get used to it. Instead, for whatever reason, he was acting like I needed his help or I'd end up in the psych ward of a hospital before the week was out.

Not that he'd admit to this.

"You want to stay in my apartment until I get my nightmares under control?" I clarified.

"And your overall fear of being alone which comes from living by yourself."

It was a struggle not to put my face in my hands. "It's that obvious?"

He gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze that felt oddly reassuring. "You're not exactly great at hiding what you feel, Steph. Besides, I've been through all of this before, so I know what to look for."

I might have said no, but images from the previous night kept running through my brain. The vivid nightmares, the panic at seeing Alpha and Ramirez in my dreams. Waking up to Morelli hearing my screams, and then holding me until I fell asleep. Feeling _safe_ with Morelli.

Yeah, I realized that I could admit that to myself. Morelli might have been a jerk in the past, but he cared about me in his own way. He might have broken into my apartment twice in a week, but the second time had been to clean up Lula's blood and make me dinner.

Okay, so the first time he'd broken in, he'd handcuffed me to my shower rod while he basically made a mess of my apartment, and I fully intended to make him pay for that one day, but he'd also made a point of leaving me my phone so I could call for help. Besides, looking back on it, I think that if I'd acted as upset and panicked as I'd felt—instead of trying to act tough and not give Morelli what he'd wanted—he'd have realized his stunt had gone too far and he'd have released me himself. Instinctively, I rubbed the hand that he'd handcuffed. Anyway, hadn't I sort of gotten even by delivering him to the police in a freezer full of dead bodies? Okay, more payback on my part was needed, but at least Morelli knew he'd better take me seriously.

Besides, hadn't Morelli also done his fair share of kind things over the past week? Just yesterday, he'd stopped by with pizza and beer with no real motive except to see how I was doing and update me on what had happened to our mutual enemies. Yeah, he'd bragged about how he'd gotten the charges removed and his pay and position reinstated, but he could have done that over the phone.

If he really wanted to spend the next week or so in my apartment to make sure I felt safe before embarking on any more incredibly dangerous FTAs, I could do worse than agree to it. Temporarily, at least. We'd have to get a few things clear from the start. I didn't want this to be a repeat of the Tasty Pastry debacle of my youth. I was fourteen years older now, after all.

I found myself nodding. "Okay. But we need to set some ground rules."

Morelli must have been surprised that I gave in like that, because it showed on his face. His eyebrows went up _really_ high, and he began grinning like a little kid. I wanted to punch him. _Men._ He probably thought it would just be a matter of time after my stitches were out before he could get me naked. Hell, he was probably counting down the days!

"What did you have in mind?" he asked, once he'd stopped grinning.

"Well, for one thing," I began, "I don't cook. If you're going to be living here and you want a fancy dinner, you're either going to make it yourself or order out. Because I pretty much live on peanut butter sandwiches," I informed him.

"I'm a pretty good cook," Morelli replied. "I can handle making meals for us."

All right, so _that_ part might not be so bad. Having experienced his cooking, I knew that Morelli wasn't lying when he said he was a good cook.

"Next rule," I continued, ignoring his eye roll. "Don't think you're going to be sleeping in my bed every night. If I get a nightmare and you come in to check on me and you accidentally fall asleep once or twice, fine. But my room is off limits to you, and my bed especially."

Morelli sort of smirked at this. "So it's by invitation only?"

I gave a snort at this. "Yeah, except I won't be inviting you."

"Okay, but I have one condition regarding that."

"No. No conditions. It's _my_ room, Joe."

He held up his hands. "I get that, Cupcake. I just want you to leave your door unlocked—doesn't have to be open, just unlocked—so that I can check on you if I hear you screaming. Please? At least for the first few nights."

This actually made sense, but I wasn't going to boost his ego by saying that.

"One false move, Morelli, and you won't be able to check on me."

Not to mention, I'd probably move my dresser in front of the door.

He nodded. "Fair enough."

"I _will_ lock the bathroom door," I continued.

Morelli looked hurt. "You don't really think I'm going to sneak in when you're brushing your teeth?"

I glared at him. "More likely, you'll sneak in when I'm using the shower." Before he could say anything, I added, "And you already _did_ break into my bathroom, so don't act like you're innocent."

Morelli's face turned red. Embarrassment? Probably.

"You're never going to let me forget that."

Another snort on my part. "No."

"Need I remind you, Cupcake, that you _did_ steal my car…"

"Come off it, Morelli. We both know you were breaking and entering."

Okay, not really breaking since he might have messed up my screen, but he didn't break the window. Entering, on the other hand…hell yeah.

Morelli took a few deep breaths, but I was pretty sure he was doing this more to give himself time to formulate a reply than anything else.

"It's your bathroom. Just don't get hurt, because I won't be able to save you."

My eyebrows shot up in anger. "I've been taking showers and brushing my teeth since I was a kid, Morelli. I think I know how to do it without getting hurt."

Morelli waved his hand as though to bring an ending to the topic. Good, because it was making me hot and kind of uncomfortable.

"Anything else?" he asked me.

I chewed on my lip as I tried to think. "You probably don't want to sleep on the floor, so I'll have to go shopping for a couch. Which I need to do anyway. But don't expect anything fancy."

"I could pay for part of it…"

"Forget it. We're not dating."

Morelli seemed a little bothered by this, which made me want to roll my eyes. _He_ was the one who'd suggested us being friends. Ha. More like friends with benefits. Paying for a couch, or part of a couch, would just give him more power over me. Well, he could forget about that.

I tried to placate myself by bringing to mine the image of the pink fluffy towel I'd loaned Morelli the previous day. He'd have to use that whenever he wanted to shower as long as he was in my apartment. That fluffy monstrosity. He'd be appropriately humbled whenever he used it. Just the idea of Morelli wrapped in that _thing_ brought a smile to my face.

"What?"

"Hmm?"

"You're grinning. What's so funny?"

I could hide it, but why bother? He'd already seen the pink towel.

"Just thinking that for the next week or so, you'll have to use that horrible towel I got from my wedding to Dickie."

"No kidding? Someone _gave_ that thing to you?"

"One of his friends," I recalled. "It was part of a Valentine's Day set. I'd pretty sure they got it on sale."

Because who in their right mind would buy it?

"I was wondering where you'd managed to get a hold of something that…"

"Hideous?" I smiled.

"I was going to say pink, but hideous works, too." He let out a low whistle. "Do you have the rest of the set?"

I rolled my eyes. "In the bathroom closet."

"Interesting."

There was a long silence, and I noticed that Morelli was still holding my hand. I withdrew it immediately.

"Can I have a chance to make my conditions known?" he asked me.

"_Your_ conditions?"

He held up a hand. "They're good ones."

I rolled my eyes. "We're not having sex."

"Yet."

I inhaled and then exhaled loudly. "Just talk."

"I'd like a key to your apartment."

"What? Are you kidding me? No way!" I practically screamed.

"Not permanently, Steph. Just while I'm living here."

"Again, _no way,_" I snapped.

"Stephanie. Think about it. We have two totally different schedules, and it makes the most sense. Do you want me to be constantly asking your super to left me in, or have me wait in the hall for hours until you show up?"

Okay, so he had a point. It _would_ look weird.

"How do I know you won't make a copy when we're finished?" I demanded.

"You can change the locks. Hell, I'll _pay_ for the locks to be changed, if you want."

It wasn't that I didn't trust Morelli. I figured that he was decent enough—not to mention, as a cop, it would probably look really bad if the whole thing got out—that he'd turn over my key and not take advantage of having had access to my apartment after I eventually threw him out. Still, the whole thing felt weird. Weren't you supposed to be dating someone for a long time before they got a key to your place? As in, practically married? I could hardly stand Morelli as it was. I didn't want to tempt fate…or his hormones.

Or mine, for that matter.

But there wasn't a real reason to refuse, given his arguments. It wasn't like I'd agree to live with him while I struggled through the nightmares. Because, part of the problem was living in my apartment, and I suspected that moving somewhere else wouldn't do much to solve that problem when I eventually faced it again. Besides, I'd feel more uncomfortable, more like an unwanted guest, at Morelli's apartment than I would if he lived here.

I nodded. "Fine. Anything else?"

"Unless you want to revoke that whole 'no sleeping in my room' arrangement, we have to pick out a couch today."

"We?"

"Trust me, Cupcake, it's not my favorite way to spend a Saturday. But I'll be sleeping on the damn thing, and I want to make sure you don't choose something that feels like sleeping on nails."

"You're not paying for it," I insisted.

Morelli laughed. "We'll see, Cupcake. Anyway, I still have the right to look."

I sighed and stood up. "Give me twenty minutes to get ready."

He pulled me into a hug, and then whispered, "I think you could pull off the duck pajamas look."

I should have smacked him, but I was laughing too hard.

Morelli drove us to a couple of nearby furniture chains so I could make and compare notes. Most of the sofas we looked at were really nice, but cost way more than I was willing to spend. I suggested that we visit a chain store known for selling furniture that people only used for a few years—usually, the furniture fell apart after that amount of time. Even if it didn't fall apart, it stayed in the initial home if the owner decided to move, because the cost of moving it would exceed the value of the item. Morelli wasn't happy about this idea, but he agreed to take me there.

"We're not getting anything that looks unsafe," he told me as he parked the car.

"There's no 'we'. It's my apartment, my money, and ultimately _my_ couch."

"Yeah, but _I'm_ going to be sleeping on the damn thing for awhile, and I don't want to find out that you ended up in the ER because you broke your leg when you were trying to sit in it after I left."

"That doesn't even make sense," I complained. "Besides, it was _your_ idea to stay in my apartment."

He swung an arm around me, which felt strangely pleasant, if overly intimate.

"I offered you a chance to stay at my place…"

I turned to glare at Morelli. "No way."

We spent a half an hour just trying to figure out where the couches were located. Finally, Morelli asked a salesperson for help, who gave us a bunch of complicated instructions which I started to follow but forgot halfway through. When we finally stumbled across the areas with sofas and couches, it had more to do with luck than anything else.

I really didn't want to spend more than two hundred dollars, but I knew that I'd be lucky to find a decent chair for that price. My absolute max was three fifty.

"How about this one?" Morelli sat on a white couch with tan flower designs printed on it. "It's pretty comfortable, and it would blend in with your living room."

I tried it out. The design wasn't my first choice, but it was certainly comfortable enough. Large enough to fit Morelli's six foot body. Wide enough so we could both sit on it. In fact, I could see myself taking a nap on it.

"It's not bad," I admitted. "What's the price?"

Morelli eyed the price tag, conveniently set on the floor away from the buyer's immediate gaze. "Four fifty."

I stood up. "Way too much. We have to keep looking."

Morelli stood up and gave it one last glance. "You should probably look for something more pink. Match the towels you gave me."

I rolled my eyes at him. "I wouldn't take a couch like that if you paid me."

Okay, maybe if I was paid. I mean, I could always get rid of it after he left, and use the money to buy a better sofa. Win-win.

The next two couches were closer to my price range, but Morelli insisted that they wouldn't hold up if we were both sitting in them.

"You're not fat, Cupcake. Not by a long shot. But those legs look way too easy to break. It's a disaster waiting to happen," he explained. "It would probably break on the drive back."

There were a few sofas that I nearly fell in love with, including one that actually folded out into a king sized bed, but they cost over a thousand dollars. I seriously considered getting the one that folded out into a bed, justifying to myself that it would be like buying a second bed for guests, but then I remembered one of my aunts telling me that furniture which served two purposes usually wasn't made that well. Also, Mary Lou had a sofa that folded out into a bed, and while the sofa was pretty comfortable, lying on the bed was like lying on a bed of nails. Besides, I _really_ couldn't spend a thousand dollars on a single piece of furniture.

I ended up buying a tan couch that was just barely within my budget, and wouldn't give its user arthritis, but it also wouldn't make the front page in any home improvement magazine. I wasn't in love with the color, but at least it wasn't white—I'd be able to keep it relatively clean. It wasn't like I had a dog or a cat running around that shed fur. Rex was good about staying in his cage.

Morelli suggested I look at some of the other items, being that my apartment was still really bare, but I felt pretty spent after an hour and a half of looking and debating. I was ready to go home, make myself a peanut butter sandwich, and watch some TV. I paid for the couch on my credit card, and one of the employees brought it out to Morelli's van. By the time we'd pulled out of the parking lot, I was glad that Morelli was driving because I'd have stood a good chance at falling asleep at the wheel.

I called Dillon from Morelli's car phone and offered him a beer if he'd help us lug the thing into my apartment. He readily agreed, and an hour later, my living room felt less like a bare room and more like a place someone lived in. After Dillon left, I locked the door and slumped onto the couch.

"Is there any leftover pizza?" I asked Morelli. Making a sandwich would take too much effort.

"Let me check."

Ten minutes later, we were both eating the last slices of the leftover pizza. Morelli had reheated it in my oven so while it wasn't as good it would have been the previous day, it was still pretty tasty. Plus, it had vegetables on it, which meant it was healthy, qualified as lunch, and enabled me to eat two more donuts afterwards for dessert. I saved part of the crust from the pizza, and a piece of the donut, for a snack for Rex. I'd have gotten up to give it to him, but I knew he'd be sleeping in his soup can.

After an hour of TV and a short nap—fortunately, this one was not interrupted by nightmares—I decided to check on my food supply, since it had been several days since I'd been shopping. Since it was Saturday and I'd be eating dinner at my parents' house that night, I figured that Morelli and I could use up my peanut butter and bread stash to make us until Monday. If we ran out of bread, we could use some of the leftover bagels. I wasn't all that eager to head into the office and find out if there were any new skips, but the money I'd earned by bringing in Morelli wouldn't last forever. Or even until the end of the month, if I wanted to pay off my credit card bills and put a down payment on a new car.

I called my mom and asked her to get my dad to pick me up so I could eat dinner at their house. My mom mentioned that Grandma Mazur just inherited the 1953 Buick from Uncle Sandor, who was heading into a retirement home until his number was called. I decided I better act quickly on getting a new car so that they wouldn't force the Buick on me. Grandma never learned to drive, so the car would sit unused in my parents' garage. If they heard I was without transportation, they'd force it on me, and I'd have no good reason to say no. Any car is better than no car, right?

Morelli headed back to his apartment to pick up clothes and other necessary supplies for his (short) stay at my place. I had an hour to kill before my dad would arrive, so I cleaned up my kitchen.

The dinner with my parents got me leftovers of half of a meat loaf, plenty of mashed potatoes and gravy, a bag of chocolate chip cookies, a huge bowl of green beans, and half of the pineapple upside down cake. Looked like Morelli and I wouldn't have to survive on peanut butter sandwiches after all. Not that I'd have minded, much.

Morelli held the door open for me as I carried in the bags of leftovers. He even took one of the bags, which seemed uncharacteristically chivalrous of him. Probably wanted to see what they were. Sure enough, as soon as his bag was sitting on the table, he began to take various items out from it and make appreciative noises.

"Your mom rob a market?" he joked.

"She always makes way more than anyone can eat," I explained, setting the second bag on the table. "I think she does that on purpose when I visit. She acts like it's the only decent meal I'll eat that week." I began to unload my bag. "My mom always sends me home with leftovers."

Morelli eyed the meat loaf and mashed potatoes. "Mind if I test out her cooking?" At my eye roll, he explained, "I didn't eat dinner. All I saw was peanut butter and bread."

"I was going to go shopping on Monday," I replied. "Mom's food and the peanut butter are going to have to last us until then."

Morelli took a small helping of meat loaf, an even smaller helping of green beans, and heated it in the microwave. He eyed the cake, but backed off when I glared at him. Sighing, he settled for a few of the cookies. "Why wait until Monday?"

"Because then I'll see if there are any new skips, and figure out if I can afford to eat this week."

I was only partly kidding. I'd never been good with managing money, but I might as well try not to spend _too_ much more than I make now that I had a paying job.

The microwave beeped and Morelli removed his plate of meat loaf and green beans.

"You're feeding me, too. I'll help out," he told me. "This time, it's on me. Besides, it's less busy on Sundays than Mondays."

What he didn't say was that while I'd probably have most of Monday to shop, if he went it would have to be before 9AM or after 6PM. Morelli probably had his favorite foods he liked to buy. I shrugged.

"We'll go tomorrow," I agreed. I stared down at his completely cleared plate. "In that case, you can probably take more meat loaf."

Morelli gave me a peck on the forehead before taking more food. I decided I might as well shower and change into my pajamas.

"Touch the cake and die," I called from the hallway. He just laughed, but when I got back a half an hour later, there were no pieces missing.

I opted to go to bed early that night, seeing as I was already clean and in my pajamas. Morelli had showered and changed into a long t-shirt and boxer shorts when I came into the living room to say goodnight. Morelli gave me a hug and reminded me to keep my bedroom door unlocked, just in case.

I really hoped that I wouldn't have any nightmares, but no such luck. Come midnight, Morelli was in my bed for the second night in a row, holding me as I sniffled back tears and trying to get my breathing under control.

For the second night in a row, he stayed with me until I fell asleep, holding me close to him the entire time. I couldn't deny that it felt good to be held, to feel safe and comforted. Joe Morelli could be a real jerk, but I was beginning to see that he tended to be pretty nice to me when it really counted.

Unfortunately, he was still in my bed the following morning, which I hadn't realized until I rolled over and landed flat on his stomach.

"Oomph," he grunted. "Trying to suffocate me?"

Eyes still bleary from sleep, it took me a minute to figure out what had happened, and another minute to remember the events that led Morelli into my bed.

"Did you sleep on the couch at _all_?" I grumbled, rolling over to what I'd later refer to as "my" side of the bed.

Morelli sat up and rubbed his stomach. "Yeah, until I heard you yelling. Guess I fell asleep after you did."

He wasn't looking me in the eye. "I got that couch so you'd have somewhere to sleep," I accused him.

Morelli sighed. "It's pretty uncomfortable if you're trying to sleep in it for more than an hour. Your bed's much nicer. Warmer, too." He smiled and tucked a loose piece of hair behind my head. "Easily big enough for both of us."

My eyes narrowed. "No."

Another sigh. "Okay. Let me know if you change your mind."

Looking back on the incident, even on the two and a half weeks leading up to the current day, I realized that I had changed my mind. Slowly. Not all at once. Morelli always started out on the couch, but he'd end up in my room when I had my nightmares. I guessed that over the first week, he'd obeyed my rule about sleeping on the couch. Over the next week, though, he'd ended up waking up in my bed a couple of times. And then during the past two nights, he'd started there and ended up there even though I'd had no nightmares to recall. Maybe I should be angry, remembering this. But I also knew that I'd enjoyed waking up with a warm body next to me. Holding me. Protecting me. It didn't mean that we were going to start having sex anytime soon, or even dating. Probably, things would be awkward for a little after he moved out and we first started seeing each other again. Kind of like how you'd feel after having a one night stand in high school with the cute guy in your math class.

I walked over to my comfortable chair and sat in it, thinking. I didn't want the awkwardness. I liked the closeness Morelli and I had forged over the past couple of weeks. There'd been a time when I'd felt like an idiot if he saw me in my pajamas, but now I barely thought twice about it. And he certainly didn't feel like it would be an affront to his manhood if I saw him with messy hair or a day old beard.

In my heart, I knew that I wasn't ready to start dating again, or make our living arrangement anything close to permanent. I mean, even if we just lived as roommates, it would still get awkward sooner or later. My money was on sooner. I liked the way things were now, but I wasn't dumb enough to believe that they'd stay that way. Problem was, I knew we'd grow apart as soon as he moved out. Sort of like the whole one night stand with the guy in your math class.

I also recognized that if Morelli kept to his original reasons for living with me, he'd be moving out within a week. My nightmares hadn't disappeared entirely, but it had been five days since my last one. The last two nights, I'd slept like a baby. Was that because he'd been next to me, _holding _me, the whole time? Or was I just getting over my first bounty hunter traumatic experience and knew that Alpha was dead and Ramirez wouldn't be in a position to be a threat to me or anyone else for decades?

I was pretty sure that I'd have to bring up the topic of Morelli moving out. He wouldn't press it on me, no matter how small and cramped my apartment was, because he didn't want to rush me. I knew that when I said goodbye, it would be bittersweet.

Probably a lot more bitter than sweet.


	20. Learning

I pushed the thought that Morelli leaving my apartment would hurt a little out my mind. After all, it wasn't like we were engaged. It wasn't like we were even dating. He'd have to leave sooner or later, and while he probably wouldn't be leaving today, I'd have to face up to it before it happened.

Part of the problem was that I was feeling a little bored. My apartment was clean, my FTAs were all captured, I'd visited with my parents and Mary Lou, and I had no laundry to do. I could sit around and do nothing, or start reading over the papers I'd collected from the library. I could also take a walk, but I wasn't in the mood to start running around. I glanced up at the clock. 4:35. Morelli would probably be back within two hours. Or less. I might as well start looking over the paperwork.

I poured over the paperwork for awhile, trying to figure out what all of this meant.

I realized then that there was a lot I didn't understand about bond enforcement. Like how it worked. For example, who exactly transferred the money to whom? Why did bail bonds exist? I hadn't been totally ignorant to the existence of bail before starting this job. I had heard of people paying a bond once they got arrested for committing a crime in order to be released from prison. I'd assumed that the money they paid was sort of a legal bribe to the court because their crime hadn't been so bad. Like, if a seventeen year old—say, Joe Morelli—had been arrested for underage drinking and driving, then he would call up his parents using the one phone call they allotted all criminals. Joe Morelli—_teenage_ Joe Morelli—would call up his mother, since I was pretty sure his father had died when he was ten, and say something to the extent of, "Mom, I'm in jail and I need you to pick me up."

After the customary swearing and threatening punishment, Mrs. Morelli would head over to the police station and pay someone money in order to release her son. Joe wouldn't have needed to call up his mother, but I was pretty sure that it had to be an adult, and they had to have access to money. Until recently, I'd assumed that whatever money Mrs. Morelli gave to the police or judge was gone. It served as a fine, sort of. Joe would have to return to court if his crime was really bad, but this was mostly to get a sentence, like community service or probation.

Now, I realized that things weren't that simple. From what I was reading, all crimes had a monetary charge associated with them _if_ the accused person didn't want to remain in prison until the time of the court date. The money just acted as a form of insurance. In fact, the person who paid the money would get the full amount back if they appeared for their court date when they were supposed to. If they didn't, then I guessed that the court kept the money, and the person became a fugitive.

I guessed that the high bail bond rate was meant to discourage someone from assuming that the figure they'd paid was a penalty for committing the crime, and take it as the whole punishment. I mean, even if Morelli had been sitting on a spare pile of hundred dollar bills to the tune of a hundred thousand—his bail bond—he was still on trial for having allegedly murdered a person. You couldn't get away with murder just by paying off the cops.

At least, not in a fair justice system.

Morelli hadn't had access to the hundred thousand, and neither had his family, so his mother had used her house as collateral. They'd paid Vinnie a portion of the money so that _he_ would fork over the hundred thousand to the judges holding Morelli. Not him, literally, but his insurance company. Anyway, because Vinnie provided a service, Morelli or his parents would lose part of the money regardless. If they'd been able to give the court a hundred thousand dollars outright, they'd have gotten it all back, but they probably couldn't have afforded to have done this.

Once Morelli became FTA, Vinnie didn't want to spend the time tracking him down, so he hired someone else to do it. As a result, the person tracking the FTA down received a portion of his bond. Vinnie still made a profit because he charged a larger fee than he gave to someone like me. The court still got their money. The accused person was still out the fee, but they would never get it back anyway.

I continued to read. New Jersey had bail bonds offices and bounty hunters because if they didn't, the police would be responsible for tracking down the FTAs. Or, they'd have to hold them without bail, and that would crowd up the prisons. Either way, it would mean higher taxes for the Jersey public. Probably, it would mean hiring more police. I knew that Jersey citizens hated high taxes, so we preferred to have private companies control hunting down FTAs.

I was beginning to understand that there was a _really_ gray area about what rights bail bonds officers/bounty hunters actually had. We weren't police, but we could use force if it meant bringing in more criminals. We weren't supposed to kill the FTAs, because that would go beyond gray and become murder. Probably a good thing. Even when I was the most desperate to catch Morelli, I didn't think I'd be able to _kill_ him. Shoot to injure, sure. Enjoy it, even. Just not shoot at him on purpose and watch him die. Not even if I would have gotten twice as much for killing him.

Hell, shooting Alpha had been enough to give me nightmares. Probably, I wouldn't be able to kill Ramirez if I ever had the opportunity. He'd been more violent than Alpha, but he was still a human being. A piece of scum, sure, but human all the same.

Well, maybe it would be more accurate to call him "humanish".

I skimmed over the rest of the legal stuff and looked at a file I'd printed called "Helpful Hints for Beginners in Bail Bondage Enforcement".

Always carry a gun, but make sure you don't carry concealed if the law prohibits it. Ha. That was something no Jersey woman would agree with. I'd decided that if I _had_ to carry a gun, I'd only do it on occasions when I was going to be going after someone really dangerous. Otherwise, pepper spray would have to work. Also, if I was going to be going after someone dangerous, I'd get Ranger to help me until I learned the ropes.

Another thing…I would always keep my gun empty. I'd make sure I had bullets available, but they'd never be inside the gun. First of all, I didn't want to accidentally shoot myself. Second, just waving a gun at someone would show that I knew what I was doing. They wouldn't be able to tell if the gun was empty. Besides, I could use my gun as a weapon even if it didn't have bullets. It had to hurt if I swung the gun over someone's head. Hell, I could probably break an arm or a leg with a good swing, if it came down to that.

The second piece of advice was to have backup available. I smiled smugly. I had that one covered.

The third suggestion was to start out with smaller bonds and work your way up. True in theory, but hadn't I caught Morelli? Okay, we'd worked together for the second half of it, but I'd been able to turn him in against his will. Anyway, I didn't know how far up I'd be willing—or able—to go. With Ranger handling the big cases, I might end up with petty theft and the occasional drunk driver.

I scanned through the rest of the list and found it somewhat helpful. Then, I glanced at the clock once more and saw that it was after 6. I put away the papers and decided to heat a pot of water. I had no idea what we'd eat for dinner, but it couldn't hurt to have a pot of boiled water handy, right?

Morelli entered the apartment just as the water was starting to boil. He gave me a confused look.

"Are you cooking something?"

"Hello to you too," I retorted.

He smiled, removed his jean jacket, and pulled me into a long hug. "Hello."

I didn't know whether to be offended, embarrassed, or happy, so I tried to make my face into an expression that reflected all three.

"Hi."

He pointed to the stove. "Were you going to make dinner?"

I shrugged. "I never cook, but I know how to boil water." Kind of. "I figured I could have that ready."

He grinned. "Works for me. How's pasta? Do we have any left?"

I checked one of the shelves and found a box that had a little left. "Almost out, but there's probably enough for tonight."

"Works for me." He took the box from me and poured it into the pot. "Do you know how to make salad, or should I do that?"

I made a hmph noise. "I know how to cut up vegetables."

I just didn't know where they were. I stood there for a minute, trying to figure out a way to look for them without making it obvious that I had no idea where they were. Okay, so there were a few tomatoes in my fruit bowl, but that was it.

Morelli crossed his hands over his arms. "Cupcake?"

I opened the refrigerator door and began to look inside. I had to pull out about half of the things Morelli had packed in before finding lettuce, sweet peppers, celery, carrots (usually reserved for Rex, but what the hell), and some raisins. I'd deposited them onto the counter and was putting back the rest of the food when Morelli rescued the pasta from being overcooked.

He gave me a peck on the head. "How'd you survive without me?" he teased.

I shrugged, causing myself to nick my finger. "Shit. Um, I ate a lot of sandwiches. Also, I couldn't afford to have a lot of food in my apartment at once. You know, the stuff that spoils."

Morelli handed me a band aid. "No wonder you're so tiny."

I rolled my eyes at him. "Yeah, right."

He chuckled. "Women always think they're fat. At least you're not one of those women who eats two bites of an apple and say that they can't have anything else for the rest of the day."

"And I eat dessert," I couldn't help but add.

Morelli ruffled my hair. "Yeah, you're a real catch."

After dinner, we played two more games of Scrabble—both of which I easily won—and then one game of Chinese Checkers. I'd forgotten how to play, so Morelli beat me. He looked _way_ too happy about that, so I had to remind him that Scrabble was a much harder game than Checkers—Chinese or American—and besides, I'd crush him the next time.

"You're so competitive, Steph," he commented as we cleaned up the pieces. "It's just a game."

"Then you won't mind when I kick your ass," I retorted, grinning.

"Uh huh. I never said that."

He was grinning, though, and I felt warm inside, which reminded me (yet again) that his days at my apartment were numbered. I tried to push the thought out of my head for the umpteenth time.

The temperature had gotten much cooler over the evening, so I wore a flannel nightgown and Morelli's sweatshirt to bed. Morelli followed me without asking, and I figured it would be nice to have the extra warmth since the heating in my apartment hadn't been turned on. The building manager usually waited until late October, or even early November, as a means to save money. Initially, I'd been surprised that the elderly people in my unit hadn't complained about this, but they were as eager to save money as the building manager had been. On nights like tonight, we just wore heavier pajamas and used more blankets.

Morelli wasn't used to the cold. He'd been wearing shorts and a t-shirt to bed for the past couple of weeks he'd spent at my place, and only reluctantly exchanged the shorts for a pair of pajama bottoms. As we lay together in my bed, he wrapped his arms around me extra tightly in an effort to warm us both.

"Don't you ever get heat in here?" he complained, head resting against my shoulders.

"Not for a few more weeks," I replied, and I was surprised to realize that my teeth were chattering. I looked down and saw that Morelli had taken most of the blankets. "You're such a blanket hog."

He looked down at his legs, and seemed surprised. "Sorry. Hang on, I'll tuck us in again."

"There's two more in the hallway closet outside my bathroom," I told Morelli.

"Just two?"

"We're not going to freeze!"

"Speak for yourself, Cupcake. I'm going to grab a sweatshirt."

He returned a few minutes later wearing an oversized blue sweatshirt and carrying two heavy blankets. He tucked me into the small mountain of covers and then climbed in, holding me against him.

"You're warm," he told me, watching me. I nestled up against his chest.

"I can hear your heart," I told Morelli, sleepiness taking away my reserve. "It's loud."

His arms tightened around my chest. "So's yours."

We stayed like that for awhile, not exactly tired enough to sleep, but too comfortable to move.

"Wish your TV was in here," Morelli commented.

"No cable jack," I replied, eyes closed. "Besides, it would be too much of a pain to have to turn it off when I'm _that_ tired."

He adjusted an arm so it was holding my waist instead of my side. It felt good. Comfortable. I yawned.

"I can see that," he amended. We were silent for awhile. Warmth was spreading through me like a hot bath. "Getting tired yet?"

"Mmm," I breathed.

He gave me a comforting squeeze. "Slight tight. No nightmares."

"No nightmares," I murmured, or thought I said.

I felt Morelli give me another kiss, and then sleep took over.

A/N: We're getting towards the very end. I think—but can't promise—that the next chapter will be the last one. Thank you for everyone who has read this far! If you could take a moment to leave a review, I'd greatly appreciate it.


	21. Endings and Beginnings

The rest of the week passed and was normal enough. My nightmares were a thing of the past, but Morelli slept next to me every night. His presence not only provided physical warmth, but also a sense of security and overall comfort. I enjoyed going to bed to the feel of his arms around me, tucking me in against his chest. Listening to the sound of his breathing if Morelli fell asleep before I did, which usually lulled me to sleep. Waking up to the pleasant feeling of having gotten at least eight hours of sound and interrupted sleep.

Even more than that, waking up to the feel of warm arms around me. I didn't want to think about the other parts of Joe Morelli that accompanied his arms. We had an understanding that he wouldn't try to make any sexual moves on me while he was staying at my apartment, but I had a feeling that all bets were off if I initiated something. Anyway, I was mostly content with platonic cuddling for the sake of warding off nightmares.

On Friday morning, Morelli tentatively approached the topic of the impending move out.

We were eating Cheerios and strawberry pop tarts, a relatively healthy meal because the pop tarts had a fruit flavor, therefore making them a fruit. We were also drinking low fat milk, which was high in protein and, apparently, good for the bones. Morelli was reading the paper and I had finished my second pop tart and moved onto my cereal.

He looked up from the newspaper and studied me for a minute. I became a little uncomfortable at the long stare.

"What? Do I have something on my face?" I moved my tongue along my lips, but only tasted cheerios with a hint of strawberry pop tart.

Morelli smiled at me and shook his head. "You're fine. I was just thinking…"

Somehow, I knew where this conversation was going, and stiffened in my chair. Not very much, not enough to be noticeable, but _I _noticed it.

"Oh yeah?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

"You've been doing really well over the last week," Morelli began. "No nightmares. No jumping when I let myself into your apartment."

_Had_ I been jumping earlier? I couldn't remember. Good thing I wasn't anymore. Cripes, I must have been a wreck when Morelli first moved in.

I nodded tentatively. "I've been doing a lot better."

"Yeah, and that's great." He smiled, but it was kind of forced. "Do you…" Morelli paused, then started up again. "I like living with you, Steph, but I'm not sure if you still need me…?"

I was quiet for a minute. From a safety perspective, both physical and emotional, I didn't need Morelli. That was what he'd asked.

"I'd probably be okay without you here," I confirmed.

Morelli nodded and gave me a halfhearted smile. "I mean, we're friends, Steph. I'd still visit…and you could show up at my place."

"That's if either of us let the other in," I joked.

The smile became understanding. "I care about you, Stephanie, and that's not gonna change anytime soon. Hell, you ran me over with your dad's Buick."

"You threw my car keys in a dumpster," I retorted.

"They were _my_ keys," Morelli shot back.

"Yeah, so I did you a favor by getting them back."

Morelli rolled his eyes at me. "This is going to be one of those things we argue about for years."

Assuming either of us lived that long. The thought was depressing, and I shoved it towards the back of my head.

"Probably," I agreed.

"So, I guess I'll be moving out…"

My heart sunk, but I tried not to let it show on my face. "Yeah. Need help?"

What I didn't ask was _when_ Morelli planned to move out. Was he talking about that day? Spending another weekend? Another week?

"Well," he began, "I'd like to have everything unpacked at my house by tomorrow night. I could spend tonight if I started packing before bed, and then finished it up tomorrow. I don't have a ton of stuff, but it will probably take at least two hours to get everything together."

I readily agreed to this. At least I knew that we had one last night. We could make the most of it.

Morelli's moving out had been a topic my brain had brought up several times within the last few days, and one that I had stubbornly avoided thinking about. Part of this was because I didn't want Morelli to leave, but part of me *did* want him to leave. I liked living on my own, having my queen sized bed all to myself, eating whatever I wanted whenever I wanted, and watching what I wanted on TV.

Okay, so the TV belonged to Morelli, since I hadn't gone out to buy a new one.

And yes, Morelli hardly interfered in what I ate or when I ate. A couple of times, I'd woken up with a craving for ice cream or pop tarts, and I'd snuck out of bed quietly, almost guiltily, in case he woke up and wanted to know what the hell I was doing up at that hour of the night. (Okay, so this never actually happened with him-it was more something that happened when I'd been a teenager and caught up at 2AM by my parents, for all of those reasons.)

The first time, I'd grabbed my snack and kept an eye trained on my bedroom door, as though expecting the Morelli Monster to appear and demand to know what was going on. The following morning, I kept waiting for him to say something, but he didn't, so I felt like a kid who'd gotten away with sneaking a cookie before breakfast. Unfortunately, my snacking the night before must have triggered something, because I woke up at 2AM for the second night in a row with a craving for ice cream. I disentangled myself from Morelli's arms and made my way to the kitchen without incident. I poured some leftover mint chocolate chip with cookie dough and brownie ice cream into a bowl and had just taken my first bite when I looked up to see none other than Joe Morelli.

His hair was disheveled and he was wearing a very soft, tan colored, oversized t-shirt and a pair of white boxers. He was also wearing his cop face. When he saw it was just me, the face softened into a smile and his eyes became golden brown.

I swallowed my mouthful of ice cream and gave a tentative smile back. I probably looked like, to borrow one of my mom's phrases, the cat that swallowed the canary.

"H-hi," I squeaked.

Morelli eyed the ice cream longingly. "Got any more of that?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "And if there isn't?"

Morelli took a seat at the table. "We could either share what you have there, or I could watch you eat that and give you sad puppy dog eyes the *entire* time."

I got up from my chair, taking my bowl with me. Might as well add some more to my bowl. "It's in the freezer. Do _not_ eat the whole thing!" I told him, even though Morelli had been the one to purchase the ice cream.

Actually, there was at least half a gallon left, but Morelli and I could probably consume that in one sitting.

I removed the ice cream from the freezer, found a large spoon in one of my drawers, and added a few heaping spoonfuls to my bowl. This finished, I located another bowl from a cabinet and handed it to Morelli. He put so much ice cream in his bowl, I was sure it would collapse. I gave him a _look_, even though there was still plenty of ice cream left, and practically flung a smaller sized spoon at him.

"Don't blame me when you get twenty cavities," I told him, taking the container of ice cream back to the freezer.

Morelli just laughed. Morelli returned to the table a few minutes later, carrying a bowl that contained at least twice as much ice cream as mine did. I took another bite as he dug in.

We sat like that in more or less companionable silence while we devoured the ice cream. I should note that, despite having taken twice as much as I had, Morelli and I finished around the same time.

He leaned back in his chair. "That was good." He smiled at me. "Up for seconds, or are you ready to head back to bed?"

"Back to bed, but I should brush my teeth first."

"Me too." He grinned at me as though to say, "I won't be getting cavities after all."

"Me first."

"Sure, I'll warm up the bed." Morelli leaned over the table and kissed me on the forehead. "Do you do this often?"

I stood up unsteadily, sleepiness threatening to take over. "Not every day. Um, did I wake you up?"

Morelli shrugged. "I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night anyway. When I first saw your shadow in the doorway, I thought that someone had broken into your apartment."

He must not have taken the threat too seriously, because he didn't have his gun on him.

"To eat my ice cream?" I teased.

Morelli shrugged again. "I'm a cop. I've seen a lot of strange things before."

We didn't talk much about the ice cream encounter the following day, but from then on, if I woke up craving something sweet, I woke up Morelli and he joined me in my late night/early morning snack. There was no yelling, no "this is horrible for your health" lecture, or even a "you'll get fat if you keep this up". In fact, not once did Morelli complain about me waking him up at 2AM. I watched his face carefully over those late night snacks, and there was never so much as a look that indicated I was crazy and he was only putting up with this because I'd been through a few traumatic events within the last several weeks.

When I thought about it, this was one thing I'd probably miss when Morelli was gone.

After the initial awkwardness wore off, we sometimes had conversations during those early hours in the morning.

"Do you think there's life on other planets?" I asked Morelli one night/early morning, over chocolate chip pop tarts. We were waiting for the chocolate chip cookies to finish baking in my oven. Those had been his idea—I'd sooner have eaten the cookie dough raw.

"Life like plant life, or life like human life?"

I stared at the oven. Five more minutes to go.

"Either."

Morelli tucked a stray piece of hair behind his ears as he contemplated my question. I noticed that he always seemed to be in need of a haircut. He'd gotten one right after being reinstated with the Trenton police department, but it was already getting in his face. I wouldn't tell him this, but I thought it was kind of cute.

"Plant life seems more likely, but aren't there something like a hundred billion stars just in our galaxy? There has to be a planet out there like ours, with semi intelligent life."

"And the fact they haven't contacted us?"

Morelli shrugged. "Okay, then they're _really_ intelligent. Or, they haven't mastered space flight yet."

"They might have ten eyeballs and three arms," I added. "Or are fifty feet tall."

"Some humans have more than two eyeballs, Cupcake," Morelli pointed out. "Teachers, for example."

I laughed. "I can believe that. It's probably a requirement for going into teaching."

"Definitely. And if someone wants to teach and doesn't have the third eye requirement, they make him or her get it in an operation."

"Ugh, thanks for the mental image," I complained, shuddering.

"The _really_ good ones not only have eyes on the back of their heads, but also on the sides," Morelli told me. "It's just disguised to look like a mole on their neck. Or their ear."

Fortunately, the alarm went off, signaling that the cookies were ready, and I didn't have to think about this scenario for very long.

I smiled when I remembered this. As for having to share my bed with Morelli, sure I missed having more space, but if I had to choose between that and a warm body who I sort of had feelings for, on nine days out of ten, I'd choose the less space option.

The problem was the one day. The problem was that it was starting to get awkward. Not awkward enough to put a barrier in our tentative friendship, but it was still there.

If I was one of those people who made lists and measured everything by pros and cons—like my sister Valerie—I would make a list stating the pros and cons of Joe Morelli continuing to stay in my apartment. The pros would be much longer, and the cons would seem trivial. The pro side would win by a long shot. I'd ask Morelli to stay longer, and he'd probably say yes.

Except, the awkwardness would become larger and real relationship issues I'd managed to avoid dealing with-up to this point-would come up. The fact remained that Morelli definitely wanted sex and, possibly, an open relationship at some point. Definitely sex right now. He wouldn't pressure me, definitely wouldn't *force* me, but I was only human and I knew that, at some point, I'd probably agree to sex with Morelli. While I had no doubts that the sex would be awesome, the "after sex" aspect would follow and things would go from weird to beyond weird. Imagine what it would be like if we became roommates and then he decided he wanted an open relationship, which meant bringing other women back to my apartment. The idea was enough to make my hair stand on end.

It wasn't even an issue of me wanting a relationship and him wanting things to be casual. Dickie's betrayal might have happened several years ago, but the pain was still real. I didn't think that *all* men were scumbags, but relationships and marriage just weren't things I wanted to enter into again. Not now, possibly not ever. I had no desire to have kids, and while I did occasionally feel the *other* desires, I usually just had to remind myself about what Dickie had done and that made me put everything into perspective.

Besides, Morelli was hardly someone I'd just met and happened to develop a crush on.

We had history, and it hadn't been a good one. He'd messed up my life in the past, ruined my reputation with his poems about our intimate acts in at least two very public places.

Okay, he was sorry for it and the poems hadn't been up for very long, but it still happened. The humiliation was behind me, but part of the hurt was still present. I could tell that Morelli had changed, had become a somewhat decent person, but I just wasn't ready for anything beyond friendship with him. Sure, I was drawn to him, but insects were drawn to light, and it ended up killing them.

Okay, that analogy was a little too extreme.

Still, I couldn't deny that the time Morelli had spent at my apartment had been...memorable. In a mostly good way. If he stopped by in the future, I'd probably let him in. Maybe. Definitely, if he had pizza or meatball subs with him.

So, when the topic of his leaving came up, I agreed that I had been doing well, appreciated what he'd done, and added that I probably didn't need him living with me anymore.

On Friday night, his last night at my apartment, we had spaghetti and hamburgers for dinner. I made the spaghetti—with only minimal help—while he handled the hamburgers. I'd expected things to be sad and awkward, but it ended up being what passed for a normal dinner between us. For dessert, we made chocolate chip brownies from a package, adding in extra chocolate chips from a bag I had, and we each ate five in the first hour. Later on, I brought out vanilla and strawberry ice cream, which was especially refreshing after the thick, chocolate brownies.

We watched a little TV after dinner, but nothing good was on. I suggested that we play some board games.

"Scrabble again?" he asked me, looking kind of hopeful.

I agreed, glad it was a game I knew I could crush him at. "I'll go easy on you."

He raised his eyebrows. "You're not THAT good, Steph."

"So, in our last game when I scored almost 300 and you barely broke 100?"

"That was just one game."

"Joe, I don't think you ever scored higher than 200..."

He gave me a fake glare. At least, I was pretty sure it was fake.

"I'm just saying that you have to admit that I'm either an okay player and you're horrible, or I'm a pretty good player and you're still learning."

"Can there be a middle ground?"

I considered this for a minute. "No."

"Guess I have to go with the second option."

I retrieved the board from my bedroom closet and set up the pieces. The game went pretty slowly, and I was at least 90% sure that Morelli attempted to cheat by switching some of his letters when he thought I wasn't looking.

I'd been intending to go easy on him, but after the third time I caught Morelli trying to cheat, I decided not to baby him. The final score was 350 to 136. He probably only would have gotten 100 if he hadn't tried to switch his letters so, in a way, cheating DID pay.

At my insistence, we played a second game, and I kept my eyes on the board the whole time so that Morelli couldn't cheat. This kind of hindered my playing, so the scores were the most even they'd ever been-267 to 243. By the look on Morelli's face, you'd have thought that Christmas came early.

Still, neither of us was in the mood for a third game. I think we were both hoping to make the most out of the platonic sleeping together part of our last evening. I'd changed into a flannel nightgown right before dinner, so Morelli showered while I brushed my teeth and was mostly successful at not looking.

A familiar sense of unease swept over me as I climbed into bed and waited for Morelli to join me. With him sleeping next to me, my nightmares had become a thing of the past. I didn't think they'd necessarily return when he left, because I felt much safer, but in my apartment and overall in my job. I'd done a good job apprehending my few skips since Morelli, and those were the ones I'd stick with for the time being. Ramirez might be alive, but he was sentenced to fifty years in jail. Even if he got out early, it wouldn't be for at least ten more years. Alpha was dead. Pretty much anyone who wanted me dead was behind bars or out of the picture entirely. I'd known this since Morelli had visited my apartment and brought over the pizza, but it had taken awhile to sink in on an emotional level. Probably, if Morelli hadn't insisted on staying with me, I would have tried the Plum approach to the problem-avoidance. Thing was, avoidance didn't always work in the long run.

The unease I felt now was the kind you felt when something really good was about to end. The last day on a family vacation, the last day with a friend before she moved across the country because her dad had been transferred, and who knew if you'd ever see that person again. Granted, Morelli wasn't moving across the country-he barely lived ten minutes away-but those ten minutes might as well be ten thousand miles once he was no longer living with me.

For the umpteenth time, I wondered if I was making the right decision by letting him go. I even considered the possibility of maybe trying for a relationship, or at least a one night stand. But things had been pretty horrible the last time that happened and, even though he wasn't the eighteen year old who wrote stuff about me on public venues, the awkwardness would still be there. For the umpteenth time, I decided that it would be better to let him go and feel lonely for a couple of days than ask him to stay and have things be weird indefinitely.

Before I could think about this for too long, he arrived in my room, wearing an oversized t-shirt and boxer pajamas. He stood in the doorway for a moment longer than necessary.

"What are you waiting for?" I asked.

He shrugged, reddening. "Just wanted to make sure it was okay."

"As long as it doesn't go any further than it did over the last week, yeah."

He just nodded and got in under the covers. I moved closer to Morelli, and he took that as a cue to wrap his arms around me. I curled towards him, wanting to see the face of the man who was holding me. I blushed a little as I thought this, because Morelli and I definitely weren't in any kind of romantic relationship. He gave me a sleepy smile and I put my head on his chest, just under his neck. We didn't talk, just laid there with us holding each other. I could hear Morelli's heart beating and feel his breath on my hair.

Both were rhythmic and calming, and before I knew it, I was sound asleep. My sleep was deep and dreamless, which is how it usually was when I slept beside Morelli. I was relieved that I hadn't started dreaming about him.

I woke up at dawn to the familiar feel of Morelli's arms wrapped around my stomach. My head was pressed up against his neck, and I lay completely still for awhile, enjoying the feel of his warm breath on my forehead. I was pretty sure that he was still asleep. I wanted to stay like this for awhile, not miss a moment of it by sleeping. But exhaustion claimed me, and when I woke up again, I was still huddled against Joe, but the bright light from the sun shining in my room woke me up.

It was a Saturday, so I knew he didn't have to go to work. There wasn't really any rush to get up. We could stay there all day. But prolonging the moment of departure would just make it that much harder when the time came. And it _had _to come at some point that day.

Still, we cuddled for awhile, not saying anything. I sighed, and put my face on his chest, closing my eyes.

"Want me to give you a back rub?" he asked, arms still wrapped around me.

That sounded great, and I nodded. His hands moved from around my waist up towards my shoulders, massaging them carefully in circular motions. It was familiar, much like the way he had done so many times after I'd woken up screaming from a nightmare. It was very sensual and I could feel my eyelids growing heavy. I probably drifted off into sleep, because when my eyes opened again, it was after eleven and my bladder was yelling at me to get up.

I groaned, reluctant to leave Morelli's very comfortable arms. "I gotta pee," I announced.

"Me too," he admitted, and we headed towards the bathroom. Morelli followed me and stepped into the bathroom after I got out. I looked in the direction of my bedroom, rather wistfully.

We could just go back to bed after responding to nature's call, but it was like the spell had broken. Sleeping Beauty had to wake up and oversee the rest of the kingdom. The prince had to go off and fight the dragon.

Morelli had done most of his packing before dinner the night before. I'd helped, finding things he'd have forgotten, like his shampoo and his shaving cream. He'd left me the conditioner, claiming it wasn't worth transporting because it was almost empty.

When I lifted it, it seemed to be at least half full, but I didn't say anything about it. I _did_ sneak a mostly full container of my toothpaste into his bag when he wasn't looking.

Still, there were still some things Morelli had to pack up after we had a quiet breakfast of pancakes. I watched as he looked around the apartment for odds and ends, not completely trusting myself to speak.

I noticed that he left the brown blanket on the bed. I almost didn't say anything, but I forced myself to speak.

"What about this?" I asked, nodding towards the blanket.

"Keep it for now," he replied, smiling. "Not enough room. You'll want it if they don't turn the heat on soon. You'd probably freeze to death without it."

I forced a laugh. "I doubt it."

It wouldn't be the same as sleeping in his arms, but the blanket would smell like him for awhile. That gave me sense of relief, and I stroked the blanket absentmindedly.

I let go of the breath I'd been holding.

Finally, he stood up, and I followed suit.

"I almost forgot." He reached into his pocket and handed me back the keys. "As promised. I didn't make any copies."

Maybe I should have told him to keep them, but I didn't. I took them, smiling, and dropped them on the table.

"Thanks."

Morelli pulled me into a bear hug that lasted for the better part of a minute. I don't think either of us were too eager to let go.

"Don't get excited but...I'd probably let you in if you came over in the future," I told him, walking towards the door.

He rolled his eyes. "Cupcake, you don't know what you got yourself into with that. Now, I'll probably be around so much, you'll think I lived here. You'll move across state to get rid of me."

I laughed, and he followed a second later. We both knew that moving out of Trenton wasn't even a remote possibility.

We hugged again. He pushed some loose strands of hair out of my face. "See you 'round, Cupcake."

Morelli opened the door and left. I watched him from my window as he made his way back to his car. We both waved as he drove away. A pang of loneliness settled inside me.

As a kid, I'd attended sleepovers and had given a few during various birthdays. I'd always felt sad right after everyone left. No matter how much fun we had, the party was officially over and it was just me and my parents. The gifts had cheered me up, but there was always a sense of let down.

I felt that way right now. Lonely. Apart. Distant. So, I headed towards my bedroom and lay down, wrapping myself in the brown blanket. Breathing in Joe's scent. It helped considerably. A half an hour later, I returned to the kitchen, the blanket still wrapped around me, and proceeded to do the dishes left over from breakfast. Despite this, the smell of pancakes lingered in the air for the remainder of the day.

**The End**


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